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How the Boys went to the River for Water 










THE 


YOUNG SURVEYOR; 


OR, 

JACK ON THE PRAIRIES. 


BY 


J. T. TROWBRIDGE, 


Author or “ Jack Hazard and His Fortunes,” kt e. 



PHILADELPHIA 
HENRY T. COATES & CO. 



ns 



THE LIBRARY OF 
CONGRESS, 


Two Copies Received 

APR 25 1903 

Copyright Entry 

CMeA,. 3— / 0 3. 

CLASS XXc, No 

s <0 o / 

COPY A. 



Copyright, 1875. 

By JAMES R. OSGOOD & CO. 



CONTENTS 


Chapter Page 

I. “Nothing but a Boy” 7 

II. Old Wiggett’s Section Corner . . 16 

0» ft. 6; 

III. The Homeward Track 25 

IV. A Deer Hunt, and how it ended . . 32 

Y. The Boy with One Suspender ... 41 

VI. “ Lord Betterson’s ” 47 

& C. Q. 4 » • ... 

VII. Jack at the “Castle” .... 53 

VIII. How Vinnie made a Journey . . 62 

IX. Vinnie’s Adventure 68 

X. Jack and Vinnie in Chicago ... 75 

XI. Jack’s New Home 82 

XII. Vinnie’s Future Home .... 92 


XIII. Why Jack did not fire at the Prairie 

Chicken 97 

XIV. Snowfoot’s New Owner .... 104 

u * ... 

XV. Going for a Witness 115 

t* v fe (jt & ... - 

XVI. Peakslow gets a Quirk in his Head . 120 

XVII. Vinnie makes a Beginning .... 126 

XVIII. Vinnie’s new Broom .... 133 


1Y 


CONTENTS. 


XIX. Link’s Wood-Pile ..... 

XX. More Water than they wanted 

XXI. Peakslow shows his Hand . . 

XXII. The Woodland Spring 
XXIII. Jack’s “Bit op Engineering” 

XXIY. Preparing for the Attack 
XXY. The Battle of the Boundary Fence . 

XXYI. Victory 

XXVII. VlNNIE IN THE LlON’S DeN . . 

XXVIII. An “Extraordinary” Girl 
XXIX. Another Hunt, and how it ended 
XXX. Jack’s Prisoner ..... 

XXXI. Radcliff 

XXXII. An Important Event .... 
XXXIII. Mrs. Wiggett’s “Noon-Mark” 

XXXIV. The Strange Cloud .... 
XXXV. Peakslow in a Tight Place. — Cecie . 
XXXVI. “On the War Trail” 

XXXVII. The Mystery of a Pair of Breeches. 
XXXVIII. The Morning after .... 
XXXIX. Following up the Mystery . 

XL. Peakslow’s House-Raising 
XLI. Conclusion ...... 


140 

148 

157 

161 

167 

178 

184 

189 

196 

204 

211 

219 

222 

231 

235 

242 

249 

263 

268 

272 

276 

280 

287 


LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 


Page 

Setting the Stakes .17 

Jack and the Strange Youth 36 

Up-Hill Work ......... 45 

“Lord Betterson” ....... 49 

Too OBLIGING BY HALF ....... 71 

Link doesn’t care to be kissed .... 93 

Shot on the Wing 102 

The Amiable Mr. Peakslow 107 

Vinnie’s Stratagem 129 

Link’s Wood-Pile 144 

How the Boys went to the River for Water . . 154 

Testing the Level 168 

Old Wiggett 178 

“Stop, or I’ll shoot!” 187 

Returning in Triumph . 195 

The End of the Chase 216 

Jack and his Jolly Prisoner ....•• 222 

The Tornado coming 248 

Peakslow reappears 256 

Following the War Trail under Difficulties . 268 

The Water Question settled 288 











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THE YOUNG SURVEYOR 


CHAPTER I. 


“ NOTHING BUT A BOY.” 



roUNG fellow in a light 
buggy, with a big black 
dog sitting composedly 
beside him, enjoying the 
ride, drove up, one sum- 
mer afternoon, to the door 
of a log-house, in one of 
the early settlements of 
Northern Illinois. 

A woman with lank 
features, in a soiled gown 
trailing its rags about her 
bare feet, came and stood 
in the doorway and stared 
at him. 

“ Does Mr. Wiggett 
live here?” he inquired. 
“Wal, I reckon,” said 
the woman, “ ’f he ain’t dead or skedaddled of a sud- 
dent.” 


8 


THE YOUNG SURVEYOR. 


“ Is he at home ? ” 

“ Wal, I reckon.” 

“ Can I see him ?” 

“ I dunno noth’n’ to hender. Yer, Sal ! run up in 
the burnt lot and fetch your pap. Tell him a stran- 
ger. You ’ve druv a good piece,” the woman added, 
glancing at the buggy- wheels and the horse’s white 
feet, stained with black prairie soil. 

“ I ’ve driven over from North Mills,” replied the 
young fellow, regarding her pleasantly, with bright, 
honest features, from under the shade of his hat- 
brim. 

"I ’lowed as much. Alight and come into the 
house. Old man’ll be yer in a minute.” 

He declined the invitation to enter ; but, to rest 
his limbs, leaped down from the buggy. Thereupon 
the dog rose from his seat on the wagon-bottom, 
jumped down after him, and shook himself. 

“ All creation ! ” said the woman, “ what a pup 
that ar is ! Yer, you young uns ! Put back into the 
house, and hide under the bed, or he ’ll eat ye up 
like ye was so much cl’ar soap-grease ! ” 

At that moment the dog stretched his great mouth 
open, with a formidable yawn. Panic seized the 
“ young uns,” and they scampered ; their bare legs 
and exceedingly scanty attire (only three shirts and 
a half to four little barbarians) seeming to offer the 
dog unusual facilities, had he chosen to regard them 
as soap-grease and to regale himself on that sort of 
diet. But he was too well-bred and good-natured an 


NOTHING BUT A BOY.’ 


9 




animal to think of snapping up a little Wiggett or 
two for his luncheon ; and the fugitives, having first 
run under the bed and looked out, ventured hack to 
the door, and peeped with scared faces from behind 
their mother’s gown. 

To hide his laughter, the young fellow stood pat- 
ting and stroking his horse’s neck until Sal returned 
with her “ pap.” 

“ Mr. Wiggett ? ” inquired the youth, seeing a tall, 
spare, rough old man approach. 

“ That ’s my name, stranger. What can I dew for 
ye to-day ? ” 

“ I ’ve come to see what I can do for you, Mr. 
Wiggett. I believe you want your section corner 
looked up.” 

“ That I dew, stranger. But I ’lowed ’t would take 
a land-surveyor for that.” 

“ I am a land-surveyor,” said the young fellow, 
with a modest smile. 

“ A land-surveyor ? Why, you ’re noth’n’ hut a 
hoy ! ” And the tall old man, bending a little, and 
knitting his gray eyebrows, looked down upon his 
visitor with a sort of amused curiosity. 

“ That ’s so,” replied the “ boy,” with a laugh and a 
blush. “ But I think I can find your corner, if the 
bearings are all right.” 

“ Whur ’s your instruments ? ” asked the old man, 
leaning over the buggy. “ Them all ? What ’s that 
gun to do with land-surveyin’ ? ” 

“ Nothing ; I brought that along, thinking I might 


10 


THE YOUNG SURVEYOR. 


get a shot at a rabbit or a prairie hen. But we shall 
need an axe and a shovel.” 

“ I ’lowed your boss would come himself, in place 
of sendin’ a boy ! ” muttered the old man, taking up 
the gun, — a light double-barrelled fowling-piece, • — 
sighting across it with an experienced eye, and laying 
it down again. “ Sal, bring the axe ; it ’s stickin’ in 
the log thar by the wood-pile. Curi’s thing, to lose 
my section corner, hey ? ” 

“ It ’s not a very uncommon thing,” replied the 
young survejmr. 

“ Fact is,” said the old man, “ I never found it. I 
bought of Seth Parkins’s widder arter Seth died, and 
banged if I ’ve ever been able to find the gov’ment 
stake.” 

“ Maybe somebody pulled it up, or broke it off, to 
kill a rattlesnake with,” suggested the young sur- 
veyor. 

“ Like enough,” said the old man. “ Can’t say ’t I 
blame him ; though he might ’a’ got a stick in the 
timber by walkin’ a few rods. He could n’t ’a’ been 
so bad off as one o’ you surveyor chaps was when the 
gov’ment survey went through. He was off on the 
Big Perairie, footin’ it to his camp, when he comes to 
a rattler curled up in the grass, and shakin’ his 
tarnal buzz-tail at him. He steps back, and casts 
about him for some sort of we’pon; he hadn’t a 
thing in his fist but a roll of paper, and if ever a 
chap hankered arter a stick or a stun, they say he 
did. But it was all jest perairie grass ; nary rock 


NOTHING BUT A BOY/ 


11 


nor a piece of timber within three mile. Snake 
seemed to ’preciate his advantage, and flattened his 
head and whirred his rattle sassier ’n ever. Surveyor 
chap could n’t stan’ that. So what does he dew, like 
a blamed fool, but jest off with his boot and hurl it, 
’lowin’ he could kill a rattler that way ? He missed 
shot. Then, to git his boot, he had to pull off 
t’ other, and tackle the snake with that. Lost that 
tew. Then he w~as in a perdickerment ; snake got 
both boots ; curled up on tew ’em, ready to strike, 
and seemin’ to say, ‘ If you ’ve any more boots to 
spar’, bring ’em on.’ Surveyor chap had n’t no more 
boots, to his sorrow ; and, arter layin’ siege to the 
critter till sundown, hopin’ he ’d depart in peace and 
leave him his property, he guv it up as a bad job, and 
footed it to the camp in his stockin’s, fancyin’ lie was 
treadin’ among rattlers all the way.” 

The story was finished by the time the axe was 
brought ; the old man picked up a rusty shovel lying 
by the house, and, getting into the buggy with his 
tools, he pointed out to his young companion a rough 
road leading through the timber. 

This ’was a broad belt of woodland, skirting the 
eastern side of a wide, fertile river-bottom, and giving 
to the settlement the popular name of “ Long Woods.” 

On the other side of the timber lay the high prairie 
region, covered with coarse wild grass, and spotted 
with flowers, without tree or shrub visible until an- 
other line of timber, miles away, marked the vicinity 
of another stream. 


12 


THE YOUNG SURVEYOR. 


The young surveyor and the old man, in the jolt- 
ing buggy, followed by the dog, left the log-house 
and the valley behind them; traversed the woods, 
through flickering sun and shade ; and drove 
southward along the edge of the rolling prairie, 
until the old man said they had better stop and 
hitch. 

“ I don’t hitch my horse,” said the young surveyor. 
“The dog looks out for him. Here, old fellow, 
watch ! ” 

“ The section corner, I ca’c’late,” said the old man, 
shouldering his axe, “is off on the perairie thar, 
some’er’s. Come, and I ’ll show ye the trees.” 

“ Is that big oak with the broken limb one of 
them ? ” 

“ Wal, now, how did ye come to guess that? — one 
tree out of a hundred ye might ’a’ picked.” 

“ It is a prominent tree,” replied the youth, “ and, 
if I had been the surveyor, I think I should have 
chosen it for one, to put my bearings on.” 

“ Boy, you ’re right ! But it took me tew days to 
decide even that. The underbrush has growed up 
around it, and the old scar has nigh about healed 
over.” 

The old man led the way through the thickets, and, 
reaching a small clear space at the foot of the great 
oak, pointed out the scar, where the trunk had been 
blazed by the axemen of the government survey. On 
a surface about six inches broad, hewed for the pur- 
pose, the distance and direction of the tree from the 


NOTHING BUT A BOY. 


13 


« 


corner stake had, no doubt, been duly marked. But 
only a curiously shaped wound was left. The growth 
of the wood was rapid in that rich region, and, 
although the cut had been made but a few years be- 
fore, a broad lip of smooth new bark had rolled up 
about it from the sides, and so nearly closed over it 
that only a narrow, perpendicular, dark slit remained. 

“ What do you make of that ? ” said Mr. Wiggett, 
putting his fingers at the opening, and looking down 
at his companion. 

“ I don’t make much of it as it looks now,” the 
young surveyor replied. 

“Didn’t I tell you ’t would take an old head to 
find my corner? T’ other tree is in a wus shape 
than this yer. Now I reckon you ’ll be satisfied to 
turn about and whip home, and tell your boss it ’s a 
job for him.” 

“ Give me your axe,” was the reply. 

" Boy, take kere what you ’re about ! ” 

“ 0, I will take care ; don’t be afraid ! ” And, 
grasping the axe, the young surveyor began to cut 
away the folds of new wood which had formed over 
the scar. 

“ I see what you ’re up tew,” said the old man, 
gaining confidence at every stroke. “ Give me the 
axe ; you ain’t tall enough to work handy.” And 
with a few strokes, being a skilful chopper, he 
cleared the old blaze, and exposed the blackened 
tablet which Nature had so nearly enclosed in her 
casket of living wood. 


14 


THE YOUNG SURVEYOR. 


There, cut into the old hewed surface, were the 
well-preserved marks of the government survey: 

N. 48° 15' w. 

18 R. 10 L. 

“ What does that mean ? ” asked the old man, as 
the youth made a copy of these marks in his note- 
book. 

“ It means that this tree is eighteen rods and ten 
links from your corner stake, in a direction forty- 
eight degrees and fifteen minutes west of north.” 

“ I can understand your rods and links,” said 
the old man; “for I know your surveyor’s chain 
is four rods long, and has a hundred links. But 
banged if I know anything about your degrees and 
minutes.” 

“All that is just as simple,” replied the young 
surveyor. “A circle is supposed to be divided into 
three hundred and sixty degrees. Each degree is 
divided into sixty minutes; and so forth. Now, if 
you stand looking directly north, then turn a quarter 
of the way round, and look straight west, you have 
turned, a quarter of a circle, or ninety degrees; and 
the angle where you stand — where the north line 
'and the west line meet — is called an angle of ninety 
degrees. Half as far is forty-five degrees. Seen from 
the corner stake, wherever it is, this tree bears a little 
more than forty-five degrees west of north ; it is for- 
ty-eight degrees and a quarter. Where ’s the other 
tree?” 


NOTHING BUT A BOY. 1 


15 


That was ten or eleven rods away, still in the edge 
of the timber ; and it bore on its blazed trunk, facing 
the open prairie, the inscription — laid bare by the 
old man’s ready axe — 

N. 82 ° 27 ' W. 

16 R. 29 L. 

“Eighty-two degrees twenty-seven minutes west 
of north, and sixteen rods twenty-nine links, from 
your corner,” the young surveyor read aloud, as he 
copied the marks into his note-book. “The other 
tree is so surrounded by undergrowth, it would take 
you and your axe an hour to cut a passage through 
so that I could run a line ; and I am going to try 
running a line from this tree alone. Be cutting a 
few good stakes, while I go and bring up my horse 
and set him to eating grass.” 


16 


THE YOUNG SURVEYOR. 


CHAPTER II. 

OLD WIGGETT’S SECTION CORNER. 

The horse was driven to a good shady place on the 
edge of the woods, relieved of his bridle, and left 
in charge of the dog. In the mean while the old 
man cut a few oak saplings and hewed them into 
stakes. 

“Now, I want ye to give me a notion of how 
you ’re gwine to work,” he said, as the youth brought 
his compass and set it up on its tripod at the foot of 
the tree. “For, otherwise, how am I to be sure of 
my corner, when you say you’ve found it?” 

“ 0, I think we shall find something to convince 
you ! However, look here, and I ’ll explain.” 

While waiting for the wavering needle to settle in 
its place, the youth made a hasty diagram in a page 
of his note-book. 

“Here we are on the edge of the timber. A is 
your first tree. B is the one where we are. Now if 
the bearings are correct, and I run two lines accord- 
ingly, the place where they meet will be the place 
for your corner stake ; say at C. u 

“ That looks cute ; I like the shape of that ! ” said 
the old man, interested. 

“ If the distance was short, — feet instead of rods, 





















. 































^ SSI I RsJ 



























Setting the Stakes. 






OLD WIGGETT’S SECTION CORNER. 


17 



— all the instruments we should want,” said the 
young surveyor, with his peculiarly bright smile, 
“ would be a foot measure and two strings.” 

“ How so ? ” said the old man, who could not be- 
lieve that science was as simple a thing as that. 

“Why, for instance, we will say the tree A is 
eighteen feet from the corner you want to find ; B , 
sixteen feet. How take a string eighteen feet long, 
and fasten the end of it by a nail to the centre of 
the blazed trunk, A ; fasten another sixteen feet long 
to B ; then stretch out the loose ends of both until 
they just meet; and there is the place for your 
stake.” 

“ I declar’ ! ” exclaimed the old man. “ That ’s the 
use of the tew trees. Banged if I dew see, though, 
how you ’re gwine to git along by runnin’ a line 
from jest one.” 

“ If I run two lines, as I have shown you, where 


18 


THE YOUNG SURVEYOR. 


they meet will be the point. Now if I run one line, 
and measure it, I shall find the point where the other 
line ought to meet it. We ’ll see. Here on my com- 
pass is a circle and a scale of degrees, which shows 
me how to set it according to the bearings. Now 
look through these sights, and you are looking 
straight in the direction of your section corner.” 

“ Curi’s, ain’t it ? ” grinned the old man. “ ’Cordin’ 
to that, my corner is out on the perairie, jest over be- 
yant that ar knoll.” 

“ You ’re right. Now go forward to the top of it, 
while I sight you, and we ’ll set a stake there. As I 
signal with my hands this way, or this, move your 
stake to the right or left, till I make this motion ; 
then you are all right.” 

The young surveyor had got his compass into po- 
sition, by looking back through the sights at the 
tree. He now placed himself between it and the 
tree, and, sighting forward, directed the old man, who 
went on over the knoll, where to set his stakes. 

On the other side of the knoll, it was found that 
the line crossed a slough, — or “slew,” as the old 
man termed it, — which lay in a long, winding hol- 
low of the hills. This morass was partly filled with 
stagnant water; and the old man gave it a bad 
name. 

“ It ’s the wust slew in the hull country. I ’ve 
lost tew cows in ’t. I would n’t go through it for 
the price of my farm. Could n’t git through ; a man 
would sink intew it up tew his neck.” 


ODD WIGGETT’S SECTION CORNER. 19 

“ Then we may have to get a boat to find your sec- 
tion corner/’ laughed the young surveyor. 

“ But it ’s noth’n’ but a bog this time o’ year ; ye 
can’t navigate a boat tliar. And it ’ll take till mid- 
dle o’ next week to build a brush road acrost. Guess 
we ’re up a stump now, hey ? ” 

“ 0, no ; stumps are not so plenty, where I under- 
take jobs ! Let ’s have a stake down there, pretty 
near the slew ; then we will measure our line, and 
see how much farther we have to go.” 

The old man helped bear the chain ; and a careful 
measurement showed that the stake at the edge of 
the slough was still four rods and thirty links from 
the corner they sought. 

“Banged if it don’t come jest over on t’ other side 
of the slew ! ” the old man exclaimed, computing the 
distance with his eye. “ But we can’t measure a rod 
furder ; and yer we be stuck.” 

“Not yet, old friend!” cried the young surveyor. 
“ Since we can’t cross, we ’ll measure the rest of our 
distance along on this shore.” 

The old man looked down upon him with indigna- 
tion and amazement. 

“ Think I ’m a dog-goned fool ? ” he cried. “ The 
idee of turnin’ from our course, and measurin’ along 
by the slew ! What ’s the good of that ? ” 

Finding that the old man would not aid or abet 
what seemed to him such complete folly, the young 
surveyor made another little diagram in his note- 
book, and explained : — 


20 


THE YOUNG SURVEYOR. 



"Here is the end of our line running from the 
direction B , — theoretically a straight, horizontal line, 
though it curves over the knoll. You noticed how, 
coming down the slope ahead of you, I held my end 
of the chain up from the ground, to make it horizon- 
tal, and then with my plumb-line found the corre- 
sponding point in the ground, to start fresh from. 
That was to get the measurement of a horizontal 
line ; for if you measure all the ups and downs of 
hills and hollows, you ’ll find your surveying will 
come out in queer shape.” 

The old man scratched his bushy gray head, and 
said he hadn’t thought of that. 

“Well,” the young surveyor continued, “we are 
running our line off towards C, when we come to the 
slew. Our last stake is at D, — say this little thing 
with a flag on it. Now, what is to be done ? for we 
must measure four rods and thirty links farther. I 
measure that distance from D to E, along this shore, 
running my new line at an angle of sixty degrees 


ODD WIGGETT S SECTION CORNER. 


21 


from the true course. Then, with my compass at E 
I sight another line at an angle of sixty degrees from 
my last. I am making what is called an equilateral 
triangle; that is, a triangle with equal sides and 
equal angles. Each angle must measure sixty de- 
grees. With two angles and one side, we can always 
get the other two sides ; and the other angle will be 
where those two sides meet. They will meet at C. 
Now, since the sides are of equal length, the distance 
from D to C is the same as from D to E, — that is, 
four rods and thirty links, just the distance we wish 
to go ; C, then, is the place for your corner stake.” 

“ It looks very well on paper,” said the old man, 
“but” — casting his eye across the hog — “how in 
the name of seven kingdoms are ye ever gwine to fix 
yer stake thar ? ” 

“ That is easy. Go round to the other side of the 
slew’, get yourself in range with our line from the 
tree, by sighting across the stakes, and walk down 
toward the slew, — that is, on this dotted line. Hav- 
ing got my angle of sixty degrees at E, I will sight 
across and stop you when I see you at C. There 
stick your last stake.” 

“ Banged if . that ain’t cute ! Young man, what 
mout be your name ? ” 

“ I was only boy a few minutes ago,” said the 
young surveyor, slyly. “Now, if you are ready, 
we ’ll set to work and carry out this plan.” 

The line from D to E was measured off. Then the 
youth set his compass to obtain the proper angle at 


22 


THE YOUNG SURVEYOR. 


JE\ while the old man, with his axe and a fresh 
stake, tramped around to the eastern side of the 
slough. Having got the range of the stakes, he was 
moving slowly back toward them, holding his stake 
before him, when the youth signalled him to stop just 
in the edge of the quagmire. 

The new stake stuck, the young surveyor, taking 
up his tripod and compass, went round to him. 

“ That stake,” said he, “ is not far from your corner. 
Are there any signs ? ” 

“ I ’ve been thinkin’,” said the old man, “ the ’arth 
yer looks like it had been disturbed some time; 
though it ’s all overgrowed so with these clumps of 
slew-grass, ye can’t tell what’s a nat’ral hummock 
and what ain’t. Don’t that look like a kind of a 
trench ? ” 

“ Yes ; and here ’s another at right angles with it. 
Surveyors cut such places on the prairies, pile up the 
sods inside the angle, and drive their corner stakes 
through them. But there must have been water here 
when this job was done, which accounts for its not 
being done better. We 11 improve it. Go for the 
shovel. I’ll get the bearings of those trees in the 
mean while, and see how far wrong they make us out 
to be.” 

When the old man returned with the shovel, he 
found his boy surveyor standing by the compass, 
with folded arms, looking over at the woodland with 
a smile of satisfaction. 

Sighting the trees, the tall, straight stems of which 


OLD WIGGETT’S SECTION CORNER. 23 

were both visible over the knoll, he had found 
that their bearings corresponded with those copied 
in his note-book. This proved his work to his own 
mind ; but the old man would not yet confess him- 
self convinced. 

“We may be somewhur nigh the spot, but I want 
to be sure of the exact spot,” he insisted. 

“ That you can’t be sure of ; not even if the best 
surveyor in the world should come and get it from 
these bearings,” replied the youth. “Probably the 
bearings themselves are not exact. The government 
surveyors do their work in a hurry. The common 
compass they use does n’t make as fine angles as the 
theodolite or transit instrument does ; and then the 
chain varies a trifle in length with every variation of 
temperature ; the metal contracts and expands, you 
know. Surveying, where the land is worth a dollar 
and a quarter a foot, instead of a dollar and a quarter; 
an acre, is done more carefully. Yet I am positive, 
from the indications here, that we are within a few 
inches of your corner.” 

“ A few inches, or a few feet, or a few rods ! ” mut- 
tered the old man, crossly. “ Seems like thar ’s a good 
deal of guess-work, arter all.” 

“ I am sorry you think so,” replied the young sur- 
veyor, quietly removing his tripod. “ If, however, 
you are dissatisfied with my work, you can employ 
another surveyor ; if he tells you I am far out of the 
way, why, then, you need n’t pay me.” 

The old man made no reply, but, seizing the shovel, 


24 


THE YOUNG SURVEYOR. 


began to level the hummock a little, in order to pre- 
pare it for a pile of fresh sods. He was slashing 
away at it, with the air of a petulant man work- 
ing off his discontent, when he struck something 
hard. 

“ What ’s that ar ? ” he growled. “ Can’t be a 
stone. Ain’t a rock as big as a hazel-nut this side 
the timber.” 

Digging round the obstacle, he soon exposed the 
splintered end of an upright piece of wood. He laid 
hold of it and tried to pull it up. The youth, with 
lively interest, took the shovel, and dug and pried. 
Suddenly up came the stick, and the old man went 
over backwards with it into the bog. 

He scrambled to his feet, dripping with muddy 
water, and brandished his trophy, exclaiming : — 

“ Dog my cats ! if ’t ain’t the eend of the ol’ cor- 
ner stake, left jest wliur’twas broke off, when the 
rest was wanted to pry a wheel out o’ the slew, or to 
kill a rattler with ! ” 

He appeared jubilant over the discovery, while the 
young surveyor regarded it simply as a piece of good 
luck. 


THE HOMEWARD TRACK. 


25 


CHAPTER, III. 

THE HOMEWARD TRACK. 

The new stake having been stuck in the hole left 
by the point of the old one, and plenty of fresh turf 
piled up about it, the old man wiped his fingers on 
the dry prairie-grass, thrust a hand into his pocket, 
and brought forth an ancient leather wallet. 

“ My friend,” said he, “ shall I settle with you or 
with your boss ? ” 

“ You may as well settle with me.” 

" Huff said. What ’s yer tax ? ” 

“ Two dollars and a half.” 

“ Tew dollars and a — dog-gone-ation ! You Ve 
been only tew hours and a half about the job. I can 
hire a man all day for half a dollar.” 

"It is an afternoon’s work for me,” argued the 
young surveyor. “I’ve had a long way to drive. 
Then, you must understand, we surveyors ” (this was 
said with an air of importance) “ don’t get pay merely 
for the time we are employed, but also for our knowl- 
edge of the business, which it has taken us time to 
learn. If I had been obliged to hire the horse I 
drive, you see, I should n’t have much left out of two 
dollars and a half.” 

“ Friend, you ’re right. Tew V a half is reason- 
2 


26 


THE YOUNG SURVEYOR. 


able. And if I have another job of land-surveyin', 
you are the man for my money.” 

“ A man, am I, now ? ” And with a laugh the 
young surveyor pocketed his fee. 

“ Good as a man, I allow, anytime o’ day. You’ve 
worked at this yer thing right smart, and I ’ll give ye 
the credit on ’t. How long have ye been larnin the 
trade ? ” 

" O, two years, more or less, studying at odd spells ! 
But I never made a business of it until I came to 
this new country.” 

" What State be ye from ? ” 

"Hew York.” 

" York State ! That ’s whur I hail from.” 

" One would n’t think so ; you have a good many 
Southern and Western words in your talk.” 

" I come by ’em honest,” said the old man. “ I 
run away from home when I was a boy, like a derned 
fool ; I ’ve lived a’most every whur ; and I ’ve married 
four wives, and raised four craps of children. My 
fust wife I picked up in ol’ Kaintuck. My next was 
an Arkansaw woman. My third was a Michigander. 
My present was born and raised in the South, but I 
married her in Southern Illinois. She ’s nigh on to 
forty year younger ’n I be, and smart as a steel 
trap, tell you ! So you see we ’re kind of a mixed- 
up family. My fust and second broods of chil- 
dren ’s married off, or buried, — scattered to the 
four winds o’ heaven ! Tew boys o’ the third brood, 
and that ar Sal, is with me yit. Some of the pres- 


THE HOMEWARD TRACK. 27 

ent brood you ’ve seen. Thar ’s been twenty-one in 
all.” 

“ Of the fourth brood ? ” 

“ ISTo, of the lot. Whose hoss mout that be ? ” 

“ Mine ; I brought him from the East with me.” 

“ What do you have to pay for a beast like that, 
now, in York State ? ” 

“ I did n’t pay anything for him.” 

“ Somebody gi’n him tew ye ? ” 

“ Not exactly.” 

“ Ye gambled for him ? ” 

“ No.” 

“ Eaised him from a colt, then ? ” 

“No.” 

“ Stole him ? ” 

“ Not much.” 

“ Picked him up astray ? ” 

The young surveyor, laughing, shook his head. 

“ Then how in the name o’ seven kingdoms did ye 
come by him, if ye did n’t find him, nor steal him, 
nor raise him from a colt, nor buy him, nor have him 
gi’n tew ye ? ” 

“ I borrowed him of a neighbor, and drove him to 
a show, where the old elephant broke loose and had 
the handling of him for about a second and a half. 
The owners of the elephant paid the damages ; and I 
kept the horse. Nobody thought he would get well ; 
but lie is now scarcely lame at all. I can show you 
the scars where he was hurt.” 

The two had approached the wagon during this 

! 


28 


THE YOUNG SURVEYOR. 


talk ; and now the old man examined the horse with 
a good deal of curiosity. 

“ That your dog tew ? ” 

“ Yes, sir. Here, Lion ! ” 

“ Cost ye sutli’n, did n’t it, to bring yer animals 
West with ye ? ” 

“ Hot a great deal. When my friends wrote for 
me to come, they said good horses were scarce and 
high-priced out here, and advised me to bring mine. 
I could n’t leave my dog behind, — could I, old 
Lion?” 

“ Who moui your friends be ? ” 

“ Mr. and Mrs. Lanman, at North Mills; and Mrs. 
Lanman’s brother, — my boss, as you call him, — - 
Mr. Felton, the surveyor. They came out last year ; 
and last winter they wrote to me, offering me a good 
chance if I should come. It was in winter ; I drove 
Snowfoot in a cutter, and crossed the Detroit Eiver 
on the ice just before it broke up. There the 
sleighing left me; so I sold my cutter, bought a 
saddle, and made the rest of the journey on horse- 
back. That was rather hard on the dog, but I 
got the stage-drivers to give him a lift once in a 
while.” 

“ What did you say your name Was ? ” the old 
man inquired. 

“ I don’t think I said. But I will say now. My 
name is Bagdon, — Henry Bagdon. My friends call 
me Jack.” 

“ And it ain’t yer name ? ” 


THE HOMEWARD TRACK. 


29 


“ 0, yes, it is, and yet it is n’t ! I was brought up 
to it. My friends like it, and so I keep it.” * 

“ Wal, Jack, — if you ’ll rank me with your friends, 
and le’ me call ye so,” said the old man, with a cor- 
dial grip of his great, flat hand, — “ I s’pose we part 
yer, and say good by. I ’ll shoulder my tools, and 
take a cow-path through the woods ; you ’ll find a 
better road than the one we come by, furder north. 
J est keep along the edge of the perairie. I sha’ n’t 
forgit this job.” 

“ Nor I,” said the young surveyor, with a curious 
smile. 

It was the first work of the kind he had under- 
taken on his own account, and without assistance ; 
for which reason he felt not a little proud of it. But 
he did not tell the old man so. 

After parting company with him, he drove in the 
shade of the woods, along a track so little travelled 
that the marks of wheels looked like dark ruled lines 
in the half-trodden grass. 

The pleasant summer afternoon was drawing to a 
close. The peculiar wild scent of the prairie, which 
seems to increase as the cool evening comes on, filled 
all the air. The shadows of the forest were stretch- 
ing in a vast, uneven belt over summit and hollow ; 
while far away beyond, in seemingly limitless expanse, 
swept the golden-green undulations of the sunlit hills. 

* See “ Fast Friends” ; also the previous volumes of this series, — 
“Jack Hazard and his Fortunes,” “A Chance for Himself,” and 
“Doing His Best,” in which is given a full account of the young sur- 
veyor’s early life and adventures. 


30 


THE YOUNG SURVEYOR. 


Jack — for I trust we shall also be entitled to call 
him so — kept his eye out for game, as he drove 
leisurely along ; stopped once or twice for a rabbit on 
the edge of the woods ; and, finally, pulled up sharp- 
ly, as a prairie-hen shot whirring out, almost from 
under his wdieels. 

He sprang to his feet and faced about, raising his 
gun ; but before he could take aim, the bird, at the 
end of a short, straight flight, dropped into the prairie- 
grass a few rods away. 

Jack followed on foot, holding his piece ready to 
fire. Knowing the shy habits of the bird, he trampled 
the grass about the spot where she had alighted, hop- 
ing to scare her up. He also sent his dog coursing 
about ; but Lion, though an intelligent animal, had 
no scent for birds. 

Suddenly, from the very ground between the hunt- 
er’s feet, -with a startling rush and thunder of wings, 
the hen rose. Up went gun to shoulder. But in- 
stantly the dog gave chase, and kept so exactly in the 
line of flight, that Jack durst not fire. 

“ You silly boy’s dog ! ” he said ; “ don’t you know 
better than that ? You ’ll get a stray shot some day, 
if you run before my gun-barrels in that fashion. 
Now go to the horse, and stay.” 

The dog, who had fancied that lie was doing good 
service, dropped ears and tail at this rebuke, and re- 
tired from the field. 

Jack was continuing the hunt, when all at once a 
strange spell seemed to come over him. It found 


THE HOMEWARD TRACK. 


31 


him on one foot, and he remained on one foot, pois- 
ing the other behind him, for several seconds. Then, 
softly putting down the lifted leg, and lowering his 
gun, he stole swiftly back, in a crouching attitude, 
to his wagon by the woodside. 

Taking his horse by the bridle, he led him down 
into a little hollow. Then, piercing the undergrowth, 
he hastened to a commanding position, where, him- 
self hidden by the bushes, he could look off on the 
prairie. 

His heart beat fast, and his hand shook, as he drew 
the bird-shot out of the two barrels of his fowling- 
piece, reloading one with buck-shot, the other with 
an ounce ball. 

All the while his eye kept glancing from his gun 
to the shadowy slope of a distant hill, where were 
two objects which looked like a deer and a fawn 
feeding. 



32 


THE YOUNG SURVEYOR. 


CHAPTER IV. 

A DEER HUNT, AND HOW IT ENDED. 

They were a long way off, — more than half a 
mile, he thought. Evidently they had not seen him. 
Though marvellously quick to catch scent or sound, 
deer have not a fine sense of sight for distant objects. 

“They have left the covert early, to go out and 
feed,” thought he. “ If not frightened, they will 
browse around in the hollows there until dark.” 

He was wondering how he should manage to creep 
near, and get a shot at the shy creatures, when the 
dog harked. 

“ That won’t do ! ” he muttered ; and, hurrying to 
silence Lion, he saw a stranger loitering along the 
prairie road. 

Jack stepped out of the hushes into the hollow, 
and beckoned. 

“ I ’ve sighted a couple of deer that I ’m trying 
to get a shot at ; if you go over the hill, you ’ll 
scare ’em.” 

The stranger — a slender youth in soiled shirt- 
sleeves, carrying a coat on his arm — looked at him 
saucily, with his head on one side and a quid turning 
in the cheek, and said, — 

“ Well ! and why should n’t I scare ’em ? ” 


A DEER HUNT, AND HOW IT ENDED. 


33 


“ I can’t hinder you, of course ; hut,” said Jack, 
“ if you were hunting, and I should he passing by, I 
should think it a matter of honor — ” 

“ Honor is an egg that don’t hatch in this country,” 
interrupted the stranger ; and the quid went into the 
other cheek, while the head went over on the other 
side, as if to balance it. “ But never mind ; ’t ain’t 
my cut to interfere with another feller’s luck. Show 
me your deer.” 

Jack took him through the thickets to his ambush. 
There were the deer still feeding ; the old one lifting 
her head occasionally as if on the lookout for danger. 
They seemed to he moving slowly along the slope. 

The dark eyes of the strange youth kindled ; then 
he said, with a low laugh, — 

“ I ’d like a cut-bore rifle for them fellers ! You 
never can get ’em with that popgun.” 

“ I believe I can if you ’ll help me. You notice 
there ’s a range of* hills between us and them ; and 
they are on the north slope of one. I ’ve been sur- 
veying a little of the country off south, and I think 
you can get around the range that way, and come out 
beyond the deer, before they see you. There ’s every- 
thing in our favor. The wind blows to us from them. 
At the first alarm they ’ll start for the woods ; and 
they ’ll be pretty sure to keep along in the hollow. 
I ’ll watch here, and take them as they come in.” 

Quid and head rolled again ; and the strange youth 
said jeeringly, with one eye half closed, looking at 
Jack, — 


2 * 


C 


34 


THE YOUNG SURVEYOR. 


“ So you expect me to travel a mile or two, and 
drive the deer in for you ? ” He then pulled down 
the nether lid of the half-closed eye, and inquired, 
somewhat irrelevantly, whether Jack saw anything 
green there. “ Not by this light ! ” he answered his 
own question, as he let up his eyelid and snapped his 
thumb and finger. “ Ye can’t ketch old birds with 
chaff. I ’ve been through the lot. Parley-voo frong- 
say?” 

Jack regarded him with astonishment, declaring 
that there was no catch about it. “ Only help me, 
and we will share the game together.” 

Still the fellow demurred. “ I ’ve walked my legs 
off to-day already ; you ’ll find ’em back in the road 
here ! Had nothing to eat since morning ; wore my- 
self down lean as a rail ; felt for the last two hours 
as though there was nothing but my backbone be- 
tween me and eternity ! No, sir-ree ! I would n’t 
walk that fur out of my way for a herd of deer. If 
I had a horse to ride I would n’t mind.” 

Jack was greatly excited. He had never yet had 
a good shot at a deer ; and if, at the end of his day’s 
work, he could carry home a good fat doe, and per- 
haps a fawn, of his own shooting, it would be a tri- 
umph. So, without a moment’s reflection, he said, — 

“ You may ride mine. Then, if you don’t want a 
share of the game, I ’ll pay you for your trouble.” 

The strange youth took time to shift his quid and 
balance it ; then replied in a manner which appeared 
provokingly cool to the fiery Jack, — 


A DEER HUNT, AND HOW IT ENDED. 


35 


“ I ’ll look at him. Does he ride easy ? ” 

“ Yes. Hurry ! ” 

Jack ran down to the horse, led him into the 
hushes, where the wagon could be left concealed, 
and had already taken him out of the shafts, before 
the stranger came lounging to the spot. 

“Pull off the harness,” said the latter, with the 
easy air of ordering a nag at a stable. “And give 
me that blanket out of the buggy. I don’t ride bare- 
back for nobody.” And he spat reckless tobacco- 
juice. 

Jack complied, though angry at the fellow for be- 
ing so dilatory and fastidious at such a time. The 
strange youth then spread his coat over the blanket, 
laid his right hand on it, and his left on bridle and 
mane, and with a leap from the ground threw him- 
self astride the horse, — a display of agility which 
took Jack by surprise. 

“ I see you have been on horseback before ! ” 

“ Never in my life,” said the stranger, with a gleam 
in his dark eyes which belied his words. And now 
Jack noticed that he had a little switch in his hand. 

“ He won’t need urging. Be sure and ride well 
beyond that highest hill before you turn ; and then 
come quietly around, so as not to frighten the deer 
too much.” 

The fellow laughed. “ I ’ve seen a deer before to- 
day ! ” And, clapping heels to the horse’s sides, he 
dashed through the bushes. 

Jack followed a little way, and from his ambush 


36 


THE YOUNG SURVEYOR. 



JACK AND THE STRANGE YOUTH. 


saw him come out of the undergrowth, strike across 
the prairie, and disappear around the range of hills. 

The deer were still in sight, stopping occasionally 
to feed, and then, with heads in air, moving a few 
paces along the slope. Jack waited with breathless 
anxiety to see his horseman emerge from among the 
hills beyond. Several minutes elapsed ; then, though 
no horseman appeared, the old deer, startled by 
sound or scent of the enemy, threw high her head, 


A DEER HUNT, AND HOW IT ENDED. 37 

and began to leap, with graceful, undulating move- 
ments, along the hillside. 

The fawn darted after her, and for a minute they 
were hidden from view in a hollow. The stratagem 
had so far succeeded. They had started toward the 
woods. 

Jack, in an ague of agitation, waited for the game 
to show itself again, and, by its movements, guide his 
own. At length the fawn appeared on the summit 
of a low hill, and stopped. The doe came up and 
stopped too, with elevated nostrils, snuffing. For a 
rifle, in approved hands, there would have been a 
chance for a shot. But the game was far beyond the 
range of Jack’s gun. 

To try his nerve, however, he took aim, or, rather, 
attempted to take aim. His hands — if the truth 
must be confessed - — shook so that he could not keep 
his piece steady for an instant. Cool fellow enough 
on ordinary occasions, he now had a violent attack 
of what is called the “ buck fever.” 

Fortunately, the deer had not seen the horseman ; 
and, while they were recovering from their first 
alarm, they gave the young hunter time to subdue, 
with resolute good sense, his terrible nervous agita- 
tion. 

They did not stop to feed any more, but moved 
on, with occasional pauses, toward the woods; fol- 
lowing the line of the hollows, as Jack had fore- 
seen. 

All this time the dog lay whining at his young 


38 


THE YOUNG SURVEYOR. 


master’s heels. He knew instinctively that there was 
sport on foot, and could hardly he kept quiet. 

The deer took another and final start, and came 
hounding along toward the spot where the wagon 
had stood. But for the excitement of the moment. 
Jack must have felt a touch of pity at sight of 
those two slender, beautiful creatures, so full of life, 
making for their covert in the cool woods. But 
the hunter’s spirit was uppermost. He took aim at 
the doe, followed her movements a moment with the 
moving gun, then fired. She plunged forward, and 
dropped dead. 

The fawn, confused by the report and by the doe’s 
sudden fall, stood for an instant quite still, then 
made a few bounds up toward the very spot where 
the young hunter was concealed. It stopped again, 
within twenty paces of the levelled gun. There it 
stood, its pretty spotted side turned toward him, so 
fair a mark, and so charming a picture, that for a 
moment, excited though he was, he could not have 
the heart to shoot. Ah ! what is this spirit of de- 
struction, which has come down to us from our bar- 
barous forefathers, and which gives even good-hearted 
boys like Jack a wild joy in taking life ? 

The dog, rendered ungovernable by the firing of 
the gun, made a noise in the thicket. The fawn 
heard, and started to run away. The provocation 
was too great for our young hunter, and he sent 
a charge of buck-shot after it. The fawn did not 
fall. 


A DEEK HUNT, AND HOW IT ENDED. 39 

“ Take ’em, Lion ! ” shouted Jack ; and out rushed 
the dog. 

The poor thing had been wounded, and the dog 
soon brought it down. Jack ran after, to prevent a 
tearing of the hide and flesh. Then he set up a wild 
yell, which might have been heard a mile away on 
the prairie, — a call for his horseman, who had not 
yet reappeared. 

Jack dragged the fawn and placed it beside its 
dam. There lay the two pretty creatures, slaughtered 
by his hand. 

“ It can’t be helped,” thought he. “ If it is right 
to hunt game, it is right to kill it. If we eat flesh, 
we must take life.” 

So he tried to feel nothing but pure triumph at 
the sight. Yet I have heard him say, in relating the 
adventure, that he could never afterwards think of 
the dead doe and pretty fawn, lying there side by 
side, without a pang. 

He now backed his buggy out of the woods, set 
the seat forward in order to make room for the deer 
behind, and waited for his horse. 

“ Where can that fellow have gone ? ” he muttered, 
with growing anxiety. 

He went to a hill- top, to get a good view, and 
strained his vision, gazing over the prairie. The sun 
was almost set, and all the hills were darkening, save 
now and then one of the highest summits. 

Over one of these Jack suddenly descried a distant 
object moving. It was no deer this time, but a horse 


40 


THE YOUNG SURVEYOR. 


and rider far away, and going at a gallop — in the 
wrong direction. 

He gazed until they disappeared over the crest, 
and the faint sundown glory faded from it, and he 
felt the lonesome night shutting down over the limit- 
less expanse. Then he smote his hands together 
with fury and despair. 

He knew that the horse was his own, and the rider 
the strange youth in whose hands he had so rashly 
intrusted him. And here he was, five miles from 
home, with the darkening forest on one side, and the 
vast prairie on the other; the dead doe and fawn 
lying down there on the dewy grass, the empty 
buggy and harness beside them ; and only his dog to 
keep him company. 


THE BOY WITH ONE SUSPENDER. 


41 


CHAPTER V. 

THE BOY WITH ONE SUSPENDER. 

Jack’s first thought, after assuring himself that his 
horse was irrevocably gone, was to run for help to 
the line of settlements on the other side of the grove, 
where some means of pursuit might be obtained. 

He knew that the road which Mr. Wiggett had de- 
scribed could not be much beyond the hollow where 
his wagon was ; and, dashing forward, he soon found 
it. Then, stopping to give a last despairing look at 
the billowy line of prairie over which his horse had 
disappeared, he started to run through the woods. 

He had not gone far when he heard a cow- bell rat- 
tle, and the voice of a boy shouting. He paused to 
take breath and listen ; and presently with a crashing 
of bushes three or four horned cattle came pushing 
their way through the undergrowth, into the open 
road, followed by a lad without a jacket, with one 
suspender and a long switch. 

“Boy,” Jack cried, “how far is it to the nearest 
house ? ” 

“ Our house is jest down through the woods here,” 
replied the boy, stopping to stare. 

“ How far is that ? ” 

“ Hot quite so far as it is to Peakslow’s house.” 


42 


THE YOUNG SURVEYOR. 


“ Where is Peakslow’s house ? ” 

“ Next house to ours, down the river.” 

Seeing that this line of questions was not likely to 
lead to anything very satisfactory. Jack asked, — 

“ Can I get a horse of anybody in your neighbor- 
hood, — a good fast horse to ride ? ” 

The boy whipped a bush with his switch, and re- 
plied, — 

“ There ain’t any good horses around here, ’thout 
’tis Peakslow’s; but one of his has got the spring 
halt, and t’ other ’s got the blind staggers ; and he ’s 
too mean to lend his horses ; and, besides, he went to 
Chicago with ’em both this morning.” 

Jack did not stop to question the probability of a 
span thus afflicted being driven on so long a journey ; 
but asked if Mr. Wiggett had horses. 

“ No — yes. I believe his horses are all oxen,” 
replied the boy; “not very fast or good to ride 
either.” 

Thereupon Jack, losing all patience, cried out, — 

“ Is n’t there a decent nag to be had in this re- 
gion ? ” 

“ Who said there was n’t ? ” retorted the boy. 

“ Where is there one ? ” 

“ We ’ve got one.” 

“ A horse ? ” 

“ No ; a mare.” 

“ Why did n’t you tell me before ? ” 

“ ’Cause you asked for horses ; you did n’t say any- 
thing about mares.” 


THE BOY WITH ONE SUSPENDER. 


43 


“ Is she good to ride ? ” 

“ Pretty good, — though if you make her go much 
faster ’n she takes a notion to, she ’s got the heaves 
so folks ’ll think there ’s a small volcano com- 
ing!” 

“ How fast will she go ? ” 

“ As fast as a good slow walk ; that ’s her style,” 
said the boy, and whipped the hushes. “ But, come 
to think, father ’s away from home, and you ’ll have 
to wait till to-morrow night before you can see him, 
and get him to let you take her.” 

“ Boy,” said Jack, tired of the lad’s tone of levity, 
and thinking to interest him by a statement of the 
facts in the case, “ I ’ve been hunting, and a rascal 
I trusted with my horse has run off with him, and I 
have a harness and a buggy and a couple of dead 
deer out there on the prairie.” 

“ Deer ? ” echoed the lad, pricking up his ears at 
once. “ Did you shoot ’em ? Where ? Can I go 
and see ’em ? ” 

Jack was beginning to see the hopelessness of pur- 
suing the horse-thief that night, or with any help to 
to be had in that region ; and he now turned his 
thoughts to getting the buggy home. 

“ Yes, boy ; come with me,” he said. 

The boy shouted and switched his stick at the 
cattle browsing by the wayside, and started them on 
a smart trot down the road, then hastened with Jack 
to the spot where the wagon and game had been left, 
guarded by Lion. 


44 


THE YOUNG SURVEYOR. 


But Jack had another object in view than simply 
to gratify the lad’s curiosity. 

“ If you will hold up the shafts and pull a little, 
I ’ll push behind, and we can take the buggy through 
the woods. After we get it up out of this hollow, 
and well into the road, it will be down-hill the rest 
of the way.” 

“ You want to make a horse of me, do ye ? ” cried 
the boy. “ I was n’t born in a stable ! ” 

“Neither was I,” said Jack. “But I don’t object 
to doing a horse’s work. I ’ll pull in the shafts.” 

“ 0 good ! ” screamed the boy, making his switch 
whistle about his head. “ And I ’ll get on the seat 
and drive ! ” And he made a spring at the wagon. 

But Lion had something to say about that. Hav- 
ing been placed on guard, and not yet relieved, he 
would permit no hand but his master’s to touch any- 
thing in his charge. A frightful growl made the boy 
recoil and go backwards over the dead deer. 

“ Here, Lion ! down with you ! ” cried Jack, as the 
excited dog was pouncing on the supposed intruder. 

The boy scrambled to his feet, and was starting to 
run away, in great terror, when Jack, fearing to lose 
him, called out, — 

“ Don’t run ! He may chase you if you do. Now 
he knows you are my friend, you are safe, only stay 
where you are.” 

“ Blast his pictur’ ! ” exclaimed the boy. “ He ’s 
a perfect cannibal ! What does anybody want to 
keep such a savage critter as that for?” 


THE BOY WITH ONE SUSPENDER. 


45 



“ I had told him to watch. Now he is all right. 
Come ! ” 

“ Me ? Travel with that dog ? I would n’t go 
with him,” the boy declared, meaning to make the 
strongest possible statement, “ if ’t was a million 


UP-HILL WORK. 

miles, and the road was full of sugar-candy ! ” And 
he backed off warily. 

Jack got over the difficulty by sending the dog 


46 


THE YOUNG SURVEYOR. 


on before ; and finally, by an offer of money which 
would purchase a reasonable amount of sugar-candy, 
— enough to pave the short road to happiness, for a 
boy of thirteen, — induced him to help lift the deer' 
into the buggy, and then to go behind and push. 

They had hard work at first, getting the wagon up 
out of the hollow ; and the boy, when they reached 
at last the top of the hill, and stopped to rest, de- 
clared that there was n’t half the fun in it there was 
in going a fishing ; the justice of which remark Jack 
did not question. But after that the way was com- 
paratively easy ; and with Jack pulling in the shafts, 
his new acquaintance pushing in the rear, and Lion 
trotting on before, the buggy went rattling down the 
woodland road in lively fashion. 


“ LORD BETTERSON’S.’ 


47 


CHAPTER VI. 

u LORD BETTERSON’S.” 

On a sort of headland jutting out from the high 
timber region into the low prairie of the river bottom, 
stood a house, known far and near as “ Lord Better- 
son’s,” or, as it was sometimes derisively called, “ Lord 
Betterson’s Castle,” the house being about as much 
a castle as the owner was a lord. 

The main road of the settlement ran between it 
and the woods ; while on the side of the river the 
land swept down in a lovely slope to the valley, 
which flowed away in a wider and more magnificent 
stream of living green. It was really a fine site, 
shaded by five or six young oaks left standing in 
the spacious door-yard. 

The trouble was, that the house had been projected 
on somewhat too grand a scale for the time and coun- 
try and, what was worse, for the owner’s resources. 
He had never been able to finish it; and now its 
weather-browned clapboards, unpainted front pillars, 
and general shabby, ill-kept appearance, set off the 
style of architecture in a way to make beholders smile. 

“ Lord Betterson took a bigger mouthful than he 
could s waller, when he sot out to build his castle 
here,” said his neighbor, Peakslow. 


48 


THE YOUNG SURVEYOR. 


The proprietor’s name — it may as well be ex- 
plained — was Elisha Lord Betterson. It was thus 
he always wrote it, in a large round hand, with a 
bold flourish. Now the common people never will 
submit to call a man Elisha. The furthest they can 
possibly go will be ’ Lisha , or ’ Lishy ; and, ten to one, 
the tendency to monosyllables will result in ’Lishe. 
There had been a feeble attempt among the vulgar to 
familiarize the public mind with ’ Lishe Betterson; but 
the name would not stick to a person of so much 
dignity of character. It was useless to argue that his 
dignity was mere pomposity ; or that a man who, in 
building a fine house, broke down before he got the 
priming on, was unworthy of respect; still no one 
could look at him, or call up his image, and say, 
conscientiously, “ ’Lishe Betterson.” He who, in this 
unsettled state of things, taking a hint from the 
middle name, pronounced boldly aloud, " Lord Bet- 
terson,” was a public benefactor. “ Lord Betterson ” 
and “ Lord Betterson’s Castle ” had been popular ever 
since. 

The house, with its door-posts of unpainted pine 
darkly soiled by the contact of unwashed childish 
hands, and its unfinished rooms, some of them lathed, 
but unplastered (showing just the point at which the 
owner’s resources failed), looked even more shabby 
within than without. 

This may have been partly because the house- 
keeper was sick. She must have been sick, if that 
was she, the pale, drooping figure, sitting wrapped in 


49 


"LORD BETTERSON’S.” 



“lord betterson.” 


an old red shawl, that summer afternoon. She looked 
not only sick, but exceedingly discouraged. And no 
wonder. 

At her right hand w r as an empty cradle ; and she 
held a puny infant in her arms, trying to still its 
cries. At her left was a lounge, on which lay the 
helpless form of an invalid child, a girl about eleven 
years old. The room was comfortless. An old, high- 
colored piece of carpeting half covered the rough 
floor ; its originally gaudy pattern, out of which all 

3 D 


50 


THE YOUNG SURVEYOR. 


but the red had faded, bearing witness to some past 
stage of family gentility, and serving to set off the 
surrounding wretchedness. 

Tipped back in a chair against the rough and 
broken laths, his knees as high as his chin, was a 
big slovenly boy of about seventeen, looking lazily 
out from under an old ragged hat-rim, pushed over 
his eyes. Another big, slovenly boy, a year or two 
younger, sat on the doorstep, whittling quite as 
much for his own amusement as for that of a little 
five-year-old ragamuffin outside. 

Not much comfort for the poor woman and the 
sick girl shone from these two indifferent faces. In- 
deed, the only ray of good cheer visible in that dis- 
orderly room gleamed from the bright eyes of a little 
girl not more than nine or ten years old, — so small, 
in truth, that she had to stand on a stool by the 
table, where she was washing a pan of dishes. 

“ 0 boys ! ” said the woman in a feeble, complain- 
ing tone, “ do, one of you, go to the spring and bring 
some fresh water for your poor, sick sister.” 

“ It ’s Rufe’s turn to go for water,” said the boy on 
the doorstep. 

“ ’T ain’t my turn, either,” muttered the boy tipped 
back against the laths. “ Besides, I ’ve got to milk 
the cow soon as Link brings the cattle home. Hear 
the bell yet, Wad ? ” 

“ Never mind, Cecie ! ” cried the little dish-washer, 
cheerily. “ I ’ll bring you some water as soon as 
I have done these dishes.” And, holding her wet 


LORD BETTERSON’S.’ 


51 


hands behind her, she ran to give the young invalid 
a kiss in the mean while. 

Cecie returned a warm smile of love and thanks, 
and said she was in no hurry. Then the child, stop- 
ping only to give a bright look and a pleasant word 
to the baby, ran back to her dishes. 

“ I should think you would be ashamed, you two 
great boys ! ” said the woman, “ to sit round the house 
and let that child Lilian wait upon you, get your 
suppers, wash your dishes, and then go to the spring 
for water for your poor suffering sister !” 

“ I ’m going to petition the Legislature,” said Wad, 
“ to have that spring moved up into our back yard ; 
it ’s too far to go for water. There come the cattle, 
Eufe.” 

“Tell Chokie to go and head ’em into the barn- 
yard,” yawned Eufe, from his chair. “ I wonder no- 
body ever invented a milking-machine. Wish I had 
one. Just turn a crank, you know.” 

“ You ’ll be wanting a machine to breathe with, 
next,” said the little dish-washer. 

“ Y-a-as,” drawled Eufe. “ I think a breathing 
machine would be popular in this family. Children 
cry for it. Get me the milk-pail, Lill ; that ’s a nice 
girl!” 

“Do get it yourself, Eufus,” said the mother. 
“You ’ll want your little sister to milk for you, 
soon.” 

“ I think it belongs to girls to milk,” . said Eufe. 
“ There ’s Sal Wiggett, — ain’t she smart at it. 


52 


THE YOUNG SURVEYOR. 


though ? She can milk your head off ! Is that a 
wagon coming, Wad?” 

“Yes !” cried Wad, jumping to his feet with un- 
usual alacrity. “ A wagon without a horse, a fellow 
pulling in the shafts, and Link pushing behind ; 
coming right into the front yard ! ” 

Eufe also started up at this announcement, and 
went to the door. 

“ Hallo ! ” he said, “ had a break-down ? What ’s 
that in the hind part of your wagon ? Deer ! a deer 
and a fawn ! Where did you shoot ’em ? Where ’s 
your horse?” 

“ Look out, Eufe ! ” screamed the small boy from 
behind, rushing forward. “ Touch one of these deer, 
and the dog’ll have ye! We’ve got two deer, but 
we ’ve lost our horse, — scamp rode him away, — and 
we want — ” 

“We do, do we?” interrupted Wad, mockingly. 
“ How many deer did you shoot, Link ? ” 

“ Well, I helped get the buggy over, anyway ! 
And that ’s the savagest dog ever was ! And — say ! 
will mother let us take the old mare to drive over to 
North Mills this evening ? ” 


JACK AT THE “CASTLE . 5 


53 


CHAPTER VII. 

JACK AT THE “CASTLE.” 

For an answer to this question, the person most 
interested in it, who had as yet said least, was 

shown into the house. Rufe and Wad and Link 

and little Chokie came crowding in after him, all 
eager to hear him talk of the adventure. 

“And, 0 ma!” cried Link, after Jack had briefly 
told his story, “he says he will give us the fawn, 
and pay me besides, if I will go with him to- 
night, and bring back the old mare in the morn- 
ing.” 

“ I don’t know,” said the woman, wrapping her 
red shawl more closely about her, to conceal from 

the stranger her untidy attire. “I suppose, if Mr. 

Betterson v T as at home, he would let you take the 
mare. But you know, Lincoln,” — turning with a 
reproachful look to the small boy, — “ you have 
never been brought up to take money for little 
services. Such things are not becoming in a family 
like ours.” 

And in the midst of her distress she put on a 
complacent smirk, straightened her emaciated form, 
and sat there, looking like the very ghost of pride, 
wrapped in an old red shawl. 


54 


THE YOUNG SURVEYOR. 


“Did you speak of Mr. Betterson?” Jack in- 
quired, interested. 

“That is my husband’s name.” 

“ Elisha L. Betterson ? ” 

“ Certainly. You know my husband ? He be- 
longs to the Philadelphia Bettersons, — a very 
wealthy and influential family,” said the woman 
with a simper. “Very wealthy and influential.” 

“ I have heard of your husband,” said Jack. 
“If I am not mistaken, you are Mrs. Caroline 
Betterson, — a sister of Yinnie Dalton, sometimes 
called Yinnie Presbit.” 

“ You know my sister Lavinia ! ” exclaimed Mrs. 
Betterson, surprised, but not overjoyed. “And you 
know Mr. Presbit’s people ? ” 

“I have never seen them,” replied Jack, “but I 
almost feel as if I had, I have heard so much about 
them. I was with Yinnie’s foster-brother, George 
Greenwood, in New York, last summer, when he 
was sick, and she went down to take care of him.” 

“ And I presume,” returned Mrs. Betterson, taking 
another reef in her shawl, “ that you heard her tell a 
good deal about us ; things that would no doubt tend 
to prejudice a stranger; though if all the truth was 
known she would n’t feel so hard towards us as I 
have reason to think she does.” 

Jack hastened to say that he had never heard 
Yinnie speak unkindly of her sister. 

“ You are very polite to say so,” said Mrs. Better- 
son, rocking the cradle, in which the baby had been 


JACK AT THE “ CASTLE.’ 


55 


placed. “But I know just what she has said. She 
has told you that after I married Mr. Betterson I 
felt above my family ; and that when her mother 
died (she was not my mother, you know, — we are 
only half-sisters), I suffered her to be taken and 
brought up by the Presbits, when I ought to have 
taken her and been as a mother to her, — she was 
so much younger than I. She is even younger by 
a month or two than my oldest son ; and we have 
joked a good deal about his having an aunt younger 
than he is.” 

“ Yes,” spoke up Eufe, standing in the door ; “ and 
I ’ve asked a hundred times why we don’t ever hear 
from her, or write to her, or have her visit us. Other 
folks have their aunts come and see ’em. But all 
the answer I could ever get was, ‘family reasons, 
Rufus!’” 

“ That is it, in a word,” said Mrs. Betterson ; 
“ family reasons. I never could explain them ; so I 
have never written to poor, dear Lavinia — though, 
Heaven knows, I should be glad enough to see her ; 
and I hope she has forgiven what seemed my hard- 
ness ; and — do tell me ” (Mrs. Betterson wiped her 
eyes) “ what sort of a girl is she ? how has she 
come up ? ” 

“She is one of the kindest-hearted, most unself- 
ish, beautiful girls in the world ! ” Jack exclaimed. 
“I mean, beautiful in her spirit,” he added, blush- 
ing at his own enthusiasm. 

“ The Presbits are rather coarse people to bring 


56 


THE YOUNG SURVEYOR. 


up such a girl/’ said Mrs. Betterson, with a sigh — 
of self-reproach, Jack thought. 

“ But she has a natural refinement which noth- 
ing could make her lose,” he replied. “ Then, it 
was a good thing for her to be brought up with 
George Greenwood. She owes a great deal to the 
love of books he inspired in her. You ought to 
know your sister, Mrs. Betterson.” 

The lady gave way to a flood of tears. 

“ It is too bad ! such separations are unnatural. 
Certainly,” she went on, “ I can’t be accused of 
feeling above my family now. Mr. Betterson has 
had three legacies left him, two since our marriage ; 
but he has been exceedingly unfortunate.” 

“ Two such able-bodied boys must be a help and 
comfort to you,” said Jack. 

“ Bufus and Wadleigh,” said Mrs. Betterson, “ are 
good boys, but they have been brought up to dreams 
of wealth, and they have not learned to take hold 
of life with rough hands.” 

Jack suggested that it might have been better 
for them not to have such dreams. 

“ Yes — if our family is to be brought down to 
the common level. But I can’t forget, I can’t wish 
them ever to forget, that they have Betterson blood 
in their veins.” 

Jack could hardly repress a smile as he glanced 
from those stout heirs of the Betterson blood to the 
evidences of shiftlessness and wretchedness around 
them, which two such sturdy lads, with a little less 


JACK AT THE “ CASTLE.” 57 

of the precious article in their veins, might have 
done something to remedy. 

But his own unlucky adventure absorbed his 
thoughts, and he was glad when Link vociferously 
demanded if he was to go and catch the mare. 

“ Yes ! yes ! do anything but kill me with that 
dreadful voice ! ” replied the mother, waving him 
off with her trembling hand. “ Don’t infer from 
what I have said,” she resumed, gathering herself 
up again with feeble pride, “ that we are poor. Mr. 
Betterson will come into a large fortune when an 
uncle of his dies; and he gets help from him oc- 
casionally now. Not enough, however, to enable 
him to carry on a farm; and it requires capital, 
you are aware, to make agriculture a respectable 
profession.” 

Jack could not forbear another hit at the big boys. 

“ It requires land,” he said ; “ and that you have. 
It also requires bone and muscle ; and I see some 
here.” 

“True,” simpered Mrs. Betterson. “But their 
father has n’t encouraged them very much in doing 
the needful labors of the farm.” 

“He has n’t set us the example,” broke in Rufe, 
piqued by Jack’s remark. “If he had taken hold 
of work, I suppose we should. But while he sits 
down and waits for something or somebody to 
come along and help him, what can you expect of 
us ?” 

“ Our Betterson blood shows itself in more ways 

3 * 


58 THE YOUNG SURVEYOR. 

than one ! ” said Wad with a grin, illustrating his 
remark by lazily seating himself once more on the 
doorstep. 

Evidently the boys were sick of hearing their 
mother boast of the aristocratic family connection. 
She made haste to change the subject. 

“ Sickness has been our great scourge. The 
climate* has never agreed with either me or my 
husband. Then our poor Cecilia met with an ac- 
cident a year ago, which injured her so that she 
has scarcely taken a step since.” 

“ An accident done a-purpose ! ” spoke up Bufe, 
angrily. “ Zepli Peakslow threw her out of a swing, 
— the meanest trick ! They ’re the meanest family 
in the world, and there ’s a war between us. I ’m 
only waiting my chance to pay off that Zeph.” 

“ Bufus ! ” pleaded the little invalid from the 
lounge, “you know he could never have meant to 
hurt me so much. Don’t talk of paying him off, 
Bufus!” 

“ Cecie is so patient under it all ! ” said Mrs. Bet- 
terson. “ She never utters a word of complaint. 
Yet she doesn’t have the care she ought to have. 
With my sick baby, and my own aches and pains, 
what can I do ? There are no decent house-servants 
to be had, for love or money. O, what would n’t I 
give for a good, neat, intelligent, sympathizing girl ! 
Our little Lilian, here, — poor child ! — is all the 
help I have.” 

At that moment the bright little dish-washer, 


JACK AT THE “CASTLE/ 


59 


having put away the supper things, and gone to the 
spring for water, came lugging in a small but brim- 
ming pail. 

“ It is too bad ! ” replied Jack. “ You should have 
help about the hard work,” with another meaning 
glance at the boys. 

“ Yes,” said Rufe, “ we ought to ; and we did have 
Sal Wiggett a little while this summer. But she 
had never seen the inside of a decent house before. 
About all she was good for was to split wood and 
milk the cow.” 

“ O, how good this is ! ” said the invalid, drinking. 
“ I was so thirsty ! Bless you, dear Bill ! What 
should we do without you ? ” 

Jack rose to his feet, hardly repressing his indig- 
nation. 

“Would you like a drink, sir?” said Lill, taking 
a fresh cupful from her pail, and looking up at him 
with a bright smile. 

“ Thank you, I should very much ! But I can’t 
bear the thought of your lugging water from the 
spring for me.” 

“ Why, Lilie ! ” said Cecie, softly, “ you should 
have offered it to him first.” 

“ I thought I did right to offer it to my sick sis- 
ter first,” replied Lill, with a tender glance at the 
lounge. 

“You did right, my good little girl!” exclaimed 
Jack, giving back the cup. He looked from one to 
the other of the big boys, and wondered how they 


60 


THE YOUNG SURVEYOR. 


could witness this scene and not be touched by it. 
But he' only- said, “ Have these young men too much 
Betterson blood in them to dress the fawn, if I leave 
it with you ? ” 

“ We ’ll fall back on our Dalton blood long enough 
for that,” said Wad, taking the sarcasm in good 
part. 

“ A little young venison will do Cecie so much 
good ! ” said Mrs. Betterson. “ You are very kind. 
But don’t infer that we consider the Dalton blood 
inferior. I was pleased with what you said of La- 
vinia’s native refinement. I feel as if, after all, she 
was a sister to be proud of.” 

At this last display of pitiful vanity Jack turned 
away. 

“ The idea of such a woman concluding that she 
may be proud of a sister like Vinnie ! ” thought he. 

But he spoke only to say good by ; for just then 
Link came riding the mare to the door. 

She was quickly harnessed to the buggy, while 
Link, at his mother’s entreaty, put on a coat, and 
made himself look as decent as possible. Then Jack 
drove away, promising that Link, who accompanied 
him, should bring the mare back in the morning. 

“ Mother,” said the thoughtful Lill, “ we ought to 
have got him some supper.” 

“ I thought of it,” said the sick woman, “ but you 
know we have nothing fit to set before him.” 

“ He won’t famish,” said Kufe, “ with the large 
supply of sauce which he keeps on hand ! Mother, 


JACK AT THE “ CASTLE.’ 1 ’ 


Cl 


I wish you wouldn’t ever speak of our Betterson 
blood again ; it only makes us ridiculous.” 

Thereupon Mrs. Betterson burst into tears, com- 
plaining that her own children turned against her. 

“ 0, bah ! ” exclaimed Rufe, with disgust, stalking 
out of the room, banging a milk-pail, and waking the 
baby. “ Be sharpening the knives, Wad, while I 
milk ; then we ’ll dress that fawn in a hurry. Wish 
the fellow had left us the doe instead.” 


62 


THE YOUNG SURVEYOR. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

HOW VINNIE MADE A JOURNEY. 

Leaving Jack to drive home the borrowed mare in 
the harness of the stolen horse, and to take such 
measures as he can for the pursuit of the thief and 
the recovery of his property, we have now to say a 
few words of Mrs. Betterson’s younger sister. 

Vinnie had perhaps thriven quite as well in the 
plain Preshit household as she would have done in 
the home of the ambitious Caroline. The tasks early 
put upon her, instead of hardening and imbittering 
her, had made her self-reliant, helpful, and strong, 
with a grace like that acquired by girls who carry 
burdens on their heads. For it is thus that labors 
cheerfully performed, and trials borne with good-will 
and lightness of heart, give a power and a charm to 
body and mind. 

It was now more than a year since George Green- 
wood, who had been brought up with her in his 
uncle’s family, had left the farm, and gone to seek 
his fortune in the city. A great change in the 
house, and a very unhappy change for Vinnie, had 
been the result. It was not that she missed her 
foster-brother so much; but his going out had oc- 
casioned the coming in of another nephew, who 


HOW VINNIE MADE A JOURNEY. 63 

brought a young wife with him. The nephew filled 
George’s place on the farm, and the young wife 
showed a strong determination to take Yinnie’s 
place in the household. 

As long as she was conscious of being useful, in 
however humble a sphere, Yinnie was contented. 
She did her daily outward duty, and fed her heart 
with secret aspirations, and kept a brave, bright 
spirit through all. But now nothing was left to her 
but to contend for her rights with the new-comer, or 
to act the submissive part of drudge where she had 
almost ruled before. Strife was hateful to her ; and 
why should she remain where her services were now 
scarcely needed ? 

So Yinnie lapsed into an unsettled state of mind, 
common enough to a certain class of girls of her age, 
as well as to a larger class of boys, when the great 
questions of practical life confront them : “ What am 
I to be ? What shall I do for a living ? ” 

How ardently she wished she had money, so that 
she could spend two or three entire years at school ! 
How eagerly she would have used those advantages 
for obtaining an education which so many, who have 
them, carelessly throw away ! But Yinnie had noth- 
ing — could expect nothing — which she did not 
earn. 

At one time she resolved to go to work in a fac- 
tory; at another, to try teaching a district school; 
and again, to learn some trade, like that of dress- 
maker or milliner. Often she wished for the free- 


64 


THE YOUNG SURVEYOR. 


dom to go out into the world and gain her livelihood 
like a boy. 

In this mood of mind she received two letters. 
One was from Jack, describing his accidental visit to 
her sister’s family. The other was from Caroline 
herself, who made that visit the occasion of writing 
a plaintive letter to her “ dear, neglected Lavinia.” 

Many tears she shed over these letters. The 
touching picture Jack drew of the invalid Cede, and 
the brave little Lilian, and of the sick mother and 
baby, with Caroline’s sad confession of distress, and 
of her need of sympathy and help, wakened springs 
of love and pity in the young girl’s heart. She for- 
got that she had anything to forgive. All her half- 
formed schemes for self-help and self-culture were at 
once discarded, and she formed a courageous resolu- 
tion. 

“I will go to Illinois,” she said, “and take care 
of my poor sister and her sick children.” 

Such a journey, from Western New York, was 
no small undertaking in those days. But she did 
not shrink from it. 

“ What ! ” said Mrs. Presbit, when Yinnie’s de- 
termination was announced to her, “you will go 
and work for a sister who has treated you so shame- 
fully all these years ? Only a half-sister, at that ! 
I ’m astonished at you ! I thought you had more 
sperit.” 

“For anything she may have done wrong, I am 
sure she is sorry enough now,” Yinnie replied. 


HOW VINNIE MADE A JOURNEY. 


65 


"Yes, now she has need of you!” sneered Mrs. 
Presbit. 

“ Besides,” Yinnie continued, “ I ought to go, for 
the children’s sake, if not for hers. Think of Cecie 
and the poor baby ; and Lilian not ten years old, 
trying to do the housework ! I can do so much 
for them ! ” 

"No doubt of that ; for I must say you are as 
handy and willing a girl as ever I see. But there ’s 
the Betterson side to the family, — two great, lub- 
berly boys, according to your friend’s account; a 
proud, domineering set, I warrant ye ! The idee 
of making a slave of yourself for them ! You ’ll 
find it a mighty unco mf’ table place, mark my 
word!” 

" I hope no more so than the place I am in now, 
— excuse me for saying it, Aunt Presbit,” added 
Yinnie, in a trembling voice. " It is n’t your fault. 
But you know how things are.” 

" 0, la, yes ! she wants to go ahead, and order 
everything ; and I think it ’s as well to let her, — 
though she ’ll find she can’t run over me ! But I 
don’t blame you the least mite, Yinnie, for feeling 
sensitive ; and if you ’ve made up your mind to go, 
I sha’ n’t hender ye, — I ’ll help ye all I can.” 

So it happened that, only four days after the re- 
ceipt of her sister’s letter, Yinnie, with all her 
worldly possessions contained in one not very large 
trunk, bid her friends good by, and, not without 
misgivings, set out alone on her long journey. 


66 


THE YOUNG SURVEYOR. 


She took a packet-boat on the canal for Buffalo. 
At Buffalo, with the assistance of friends she had 
made on board the boat, she found the captain of 
a schooner, who agreed to give her a passage around 
the lakes to Chicago, for four dollars. There were 
no railroads through Northern Ohio and across 
Michigan and Indiana in those days; and although 
there were steamboats on the lakes, Yinnie found 
that a passage on one of them would cost more 
money than she could afford. So she was glad to 
go in the schooner. 

The weather was fine, the winds favored, and the 
Heron made a quick trip. Yinnie, after two or 
three days of sea-sickness, enjoyed the voyage, which 
was made all the more pleasant to her by the friend- 
ship of the captain and his wife. 

She was interested in all she saw, — in watching 
the weaves, the sailors hauling the ropes, the swelling 
of the great sails, — in the vessels they met or 
passed, the ports at which they touched, — the fort, 
the Indians, and the wonderfully clear depth of the 
water at Mackinaw. But the voyage grew tiresome 
toward the close, and her heart bounded with joy 
when the captain came into the cabin early one morn- 
ing and announced that they had reached Chicago. 

The great Western metropolis was then a‘ town 
of no more than eight or ten thousand inhabitants, 
hastily and shabbily built on the low level of the 
plain stretching for miles back from the lake shore. 
In a short walk with the captain’s wife, Yinnie saw 


IIOW VINNIE MADE A JOURNEY. 67 

about all of the place she cared to ; noting particu- 
larly a load of hay “ slewed/’ or mired, in the mud- 
lioles of one of the principal streets; the sight of 
which made her wonder if a great and flourishing 
city could ever be built there ! 

Meanwhile the captain, by inquiry in the resorts 
of market-men, found a farmer who was going to 
drive out to the Long Woods settlement that after- 
noon, and who engaged to come with his wagon to 
the wharf where the Heron lay, and take off Vin- 
nie and her trunk. 

“ 0, how fortunate ! ” she exclaimed. “ How good 
everybody is to me ! Only think, I shall reach my 
sister’s house to-night ! ” 


68 


THE YOUNG SURVEYOR. 


CHAPTER IX. 

vinnie’s adventure. 

In due time a rough farm-wagon was backed down 
upon the wharf, and a swarthy man, with a high, 
hooked nose, like the inverted prow of a ship, 
boarded the schooner, and scratched his head, 
through its shock of stiff, coarse hair, by way of sal- 
utation to Yinnie, who came on deck to meet him. 

“ Do’ no ’s you ’ll like ridin’ with me, in a lum- 
ber-wagon, on a stiff board seat.” 

“ 0, I sha’ n’t mind ! ” said Yinnie, who was only 
too glad to go. 

“ What part of the settlement ye goin’ to ? ” he 
asked, as he lifted one end of the trunk, while the 
captain took up the other. 

“ To Mr. Betterson’s house ; Mrs. Betterson is my 
sister,” said Yinnie. 

The man dropped his end of the trunk, and turned 
and glared at her. 

“ You ’ve got holt o’ the wrong man this time ! ” 
he said. “ I don’t take nobody in my wagon to the 
house of no sicli a man as Lord Betterson. Ye may 
tell him as much.” 

“ Will you take me to any house near by ? ” said 
the astonished Yinnie. 


vinnie’s adventure. 


69 


"Not if you’re a connection of the Bettersons, 
I won’t for no money ! I ’ve nothin’ to do with 
that family, but to hate and despise ’em. Tell ’em 
that too. But they know it a’ready. My name ’s 
Dudley Peakslow.” 

And, in spite of the captain’s remonstrance, the 
angry man turned his back upon the schooner, and 
drove off in his wagon. 

It took Vinnie a minute to recover from the shock 
his rude conduct gave her. Then she smiled faintly, 
and said, — 

“ It ’s too bad I could n’t have a ride in his old 
wagon ! But he would n’t be very agreeable com- 
pany, would he ? ” So she tried to console herself 
for the disappointment. She had thought all along : 
“ If I can do no better, I will take the stage to North 
Mills ; Jack will help me get over to my sister’s from 
there.” And it now seemed as if she might have to 
take that route. 

The schooner was discharging her miscellaneous 
freight of Eastern merchandise, — dry goods, gro- 
ceries, hardware, boots and shoes, — and the captain 
was too much occupied to do anything more for her 
that afternoon. 

She grew restless under the delay ; and feeling 
that she ought to make one more effort to find a 
conveyance direct to Long Woods, she set off alone 
to make inquiries for herself. 

The first place she visited was a hotel she had 
noticed in her morning’s walk, — the Farmers’ Home ; 


70 


THE YOUNG SURVEYOR. 


and she was just going away from the door, having 
met with no success, when a slim youth, carrying 
his head jauntily on one side, came tripping after 
her, and accosted her with an apologetic smile and 
lifted hat. 

“ Excuse me, — I was told you wanted to find some- 
body going out to Mr. Betterson’s at Long Woods.” 

“ 0 yes ! do you know of anybody I can ride 
with ? ” 

“ I am in a way of knowing, — why, yes, — I 
think there is a gentleman going out early to-mor- 
row morning. A gentleman and his daughter. Wife 
and daughter, in fact. A two-seated wagon ; you 
might ride on the hind-seat with the daughter. 
Stopping at the Prairie Flower.” 

“ 0, thank you ! And can I go there and find 
them?” 

“ I am going that way, and, if you please, I will 
introduce you,” said the youth. 

Yinnie replied that, if he would give her their 
names, she would save him the trouble. For, despite 
his affability, there was something about him she 
distrusted and disliked, — an indefinable air of in- 
sincerity, and a look out of his eyes of gay vaga- 
bondism and dissipation. 

He declared that it would be no trouble; more- 
over, he could not at that moment recall the names ; 
so, as there was no help for it, she let him walk by 
her side. 

At the Prairie Flower, — which was not quite so 


vinnie’s adventure. 


71 


lovely or fragrant a public-house as the name had 
led her to expect, — he showed her into a small, 
dingy sitting-room, up one flight of stairs, and went 
to speak with the clerk. 

“The ladies will be here presently,” he said, re- 
turning to her in a few minutes. “ Meanwhile I 
thought I would order some refreshments ” And he 
was followed into the room by a waiter bringing a 
basket of cake and two glasses of wine. 



TOO OBLIGING BY HALF. 


72 


THE YOUNG SURVEYOR. 


“ No refreshments for me ! ” cried Yinnie, quickly. 

“ The other ladies will like some/’ said the youth, 
carelessly. “ Intimate friends of mine. Just a little 
cake and sweet wine.” 

“ But you have ordered only two glasses ! And a 
few minutes ago you could n’t think of their names, 
— those intimate friends of yours ! ” returned Yinnie, 
with sparkling eyes. 

The youth took up a glass, threw himself back in 
a chair, and laughed. 

“It’s a very uncommon name, — Jenkins; no, 
Judkins ; something like that. Neighbors of the 
Bettersons ; intimate friends of theirs , I mean. You 
think I ’m not acquainted out there ? Ask Carrie ! 
ask the boys, hi, hi !” — with a giggle and a grimace, 
as he sipped the wine. 

“You do really know my sister Caroline?” said 
Yinnie. 

The youth set down his glass and stared. 

“Your sister! I wondered who in thunder you 
could be, inquiring your way to Betterson’s ; but I 
never dreamed — Excuse me, I would n’t have 
played such a joke, if I had known ! ” 

“ What joke ? ” Yinnie demanded. 

“Why, there ’s no Jenkins, — Judkins, — what did 
I call their names ? I just wanted to have a little 
fun, and find you out.” 

Yinnie trembled with indignation. She started to go. 

“ But you have n’t found me out,” he said, with an 
impudent chuckle. 


vinnie’s adventure. 


73 


“ I ’ ve found out all I wish to know of you/’ said 
Yinnie, ready to cry with vexation. “I’ve come 
alone all the way from my home in Western New 
York, and met nobody who was n’t kind and respect- 
ful to me, till I reached Chicago to-day.” 

The wretch seemed slightly touched by this re- 
buke ; but he laughed again as he finished his 
glass. 

“Well, it was a low trick. But ’twas all in fun, 
I tell ye. Come, drink your wine, and make up; 
we’ll be friends yet. Won’t drink? Here goes, 
then ! ” And he tossed off the contents of the second 
glass. “ Now we ’ll take a little walk, and talk over 
our Betterson friends by the way.” 

She was already out of the room. He hastened to 
her side ; she walked faster still, and he came trip- 
ping lightly after her down the stairs. 

Betwixt anger and alarm, she was wondering 
whether she should try to run away from him, or 
ask the protection of the first person she met, when, 
looking eagerly from the doorway as she hurried out, 
she saw, across the street, a face she knew, and ut- 
tered a cry of joy. 

“Jack ! 0 Jack ! ” 

It seemed almost like a dream, that it should in- 
deed be Jack, then and there. He paused, glanced 
up and down, then across at the girlish figure start- 
ing toward him, and rushed over to her, reaching out 
both hands, and exclaiming, — 

“ Yinnie Dalton ! is it you ? ” 

4 


74 


THE YOUNG SURVEYOR. 


In the surprise and pleasure of this unexpected 
meeting, she forgot all about the slim youth she was 
so eager to avoid a moment before. When she 
thought of him again, and looked about her, he 
had disappeared, having slipped behind her, and 
skipped back up the stairs with amazing agility at 
sight of Jack. 


JACK AND VINNIE IN CHICAGO. 


75 


CHAPTER X. 

JACK AND VINNIE IN CHICAGO. 

Vinnie poured out her story to her friend as they 
walked along the street. 

Jack was so incensed, when she came to the up- 
shot of the- adventure, that he wished to go back at 
once and make the slim youth’s acquaintance. But 
she would not permit so foolish a thing. 

“ It is all over now. What good would it do for 
you to see him ? ” 

“ I don’t know ; I ’d like to tell the scamp what I 
think of him, if nothing more He wanted a little 
fun, did he ? ” And Jack stood, pale with wrath, 
looking back at the hotel. 

“ If it had n’t been for him, I might not have seen 
you,” said Vinnie. “ Maybe you can’t forgive him 
that ! ” 

Jack looked into her eyes, full of a sweet, mirthful 
light, and forgot his anger. 

“I’ll forgive him the rest, because, of that. Be- 
sides, I ’ve no time to waste on him. I ’m hunting 
for my horse.” 

He had written to Vinnie of his loss ; and she was 
now eager to know if Snowfoot had been heard from. 

“ Hot a hair of him ! ” said Jack. “ I got an old 


76 


THE YOUNG SURVEYOR. 


hunter and trapper to go with me the next day ; we 
struck his trail on the prairie, and after a deal of 
trouble tracked him to a settler’s cabin. There the 
rogue had stopped, and asked for supper and lodg- 
ings, which he promised to pay for in the morning. 
The man and his wife had gone to bed, but they got 
up, fed him and the horse, and then made him up a 
bed on the cabin floor. He pretended to be very 
careful of his horse, and he had to go out and make 
sure that he was all right before he went to bed ; 
and that was the last they saw of him. He bridled 
Snowfoot, and rode off so slyly that they never knew 
which way he went. He had struck the travelled 
road, and there we lost all trace of him. I went on 
to Joliet, and looked along the canal, and set stable- 
men to watch for him, while my friend took the road 
to Chicago ; but neither of us had any luck. I ’ve 
hunted all about the country for him ; and now, for 
a last chance, I ’ve come to Chicago myself.” 

“ How long have you been here ? ” Yinnie asked. 

“ Only about two hours ; and I must go back to- 
morrow. I ’ve not much hope of finding Snowfoot 
here ; but as I had a chance to ride in with a neigh- 
bor, I thought best to take advantage of it. Lucky 
I did ! Why did n’t you write and let somebody 
know you were coming ? ” 

“I did write to my sister; but I didn’t expect 
anybody to meet me here in Chicago, since I 
couldn’t tell just when I should arrive.” 

“Where are you stopping?” 


JACK AND YINNIE IN CHICAGO. 77 

f * On board the schooner that brought me. She is 
lying quite near here, at a wharf in the river.” 

“ Can you stay on board till to-morrow ? ” 

Vinnie thought the captain and his wife would be 
glad to keep her. 

“ Though it is n’t very nice,” she added, “ now that 
they are discharging the cargo.” 

“ Perhaps you had better go to the Farmers’ 
Home, where my friend and I have put up,” said 
Jack. 

“ You at the Farmers’ Home ! Why could n’t I 
have known it ? ” said Yinnie. “ It was there I went 
to inquire for Long Woods people, and met that scape- 
grace. When do you go home ? ” 

“We start early to-morrow morning. You can go 
with us as well as not, — a good deal better than 
not!” said the overjoyed Jack. “Nothing but a 
little load of groceries. You shall go home with me 
to North Mills ; Mrs. Lanman will be glad to see 
you. Then I ’ll drive you over to Long Woods in 
three or four days.” 

“ Three or four days ! ” exclaimed Yinnie, not dar- 
ing to be as happy as these welcome words might 
have made her. “ I should like much to visit your 
friends; but I must get to my sister’s as soon as 
possible.” 

Jack’s face clouded. 

“Yinnie, I’m afraid you don’t know what you 
have undertaken. I can’t bear the thought of your 
going into that family. Why do you ? The Lan- 


78 


THE YOUNG SURVEYOR. 


mans will be delighted to have you stay with 
them.” 

“ 0, but I must go where I am needed,” Yinnie 
answered. “ And you must n’t say a word against it. 
You must help me, Jack !” 

“ They need you enough, Heaven knows, Yinnie ! ” 
Jack felt that he ought not to say another word to 
discourage her, so he changed the subject. “ Which 
way now is your schooner ? ” 

Yinnie said she would show him ; but she wished 
to buy a little present for the captain’s wife on the 
way. As they passed along the street, she made 
him tell all he knew of her sister’s family ; and then 
asked if he had heard from George Greenwood lately. 

“ Only a few days ago he sent me a magazine 
with a long story of his in it, founded on our ad- 
venture with the pickpockets,” replied Jack. “ He 
writes me a letter about once a month. You hear 
from him, of course ? ” 

“ 0 yes. And he sends me magazines. He has 
wonderful talent, don’t you think so ? ” 

And the two friends fell to praising the absent 
George. 

“ I wonder if you have noticed one thing ? ” said 
Yinnie. 

“ What, in particular ? ” 

“ That Grace Manton has been the heroine of all 
his last stories.” 

“ I fancied I could see you in one or two of them,” 
replied Jack. 


JACK AND VINNIE IN CHICAGO. 


79 


“ Perhaps. But I am not the heroine ; I am only 
the goody-goody girl/’ laughed Vinnie. “When you 
see beauty, talent, accomplishments, — that ’s Grace. 
I am glad they are getting on so well together.” 

“ So am I ! ” said Jack, with an indescribable look 
at the girl beside him. 

“ Mr. Manton is dead, — I suppose you know it,” 
said Yinnie. 

Jack knew it, and was not sorry ; though he had 
much to say in praise of the man’s natural talents, 
which dissipation had ruined. 

The purchase made, they visited the schooner, 
where it was decided that Yinnie should remain on 
hoard. Jack then left her, in order to make the 
most of his time looking about the city for his 
horse. 

He continued his search, visiting every public 
stable, making inquiries of the hostlers, and nailing 
up or distributing a small hand-bill he had had 
printed, offering a reward of twenty dollars for “a 
light, reddish roan horse, with white forefeet, a 
conspicuous scar low down on the near side, just 
behind the shoulder, and a smaller scar on the off 
hip.” 

In the mean time he kept a sharp lookout for roan 
horses in the streets. But all to no purpose. There 
were roan horses enough, but he could see and hear 
nothing of the particular roan he wanted. 

In the evening he went to see Yinnie on board the 
schooner, and talked of his ill success. 


80 


THE YOUNG SURVEYOR. 


“ A light roan ? that ’s a kind of gray, ain’t it ? ” 
said the captain of the Heron. “ That bearish fellow 
from Long Woods, who wouldn’t take into his wagon 
anybody connected with the Bettersons — ” 

“ Dudley Peakslow, — I sha’ n’t soon forget his 
name ! ” said Vinnie. 

“He drove such a horse,” said the captain; 
“ though I did n’t notice the forefeet or any scars.” 

Jack laughed, and shook his head. 

“ That ’s what everybody says. But the scars and 
forefeet are the main points in my case. I would n’t 
give a cent for a roan horse without ’em ! ” Then he 
changed the subject. “ It ’s a beautiful night, Vinnie ; 
let ’s go for a little stroll on the lake shore, and for- 
get all about roans, — light roans, dark roans, white 
feet, black, blue, green, yellow feet! Perhaps your 
friends will go with us.” 

Jack hoped they would n’t, I regret to say. But 
the night was so pleasant, and the captain’s wife had 
become so attached to Vinnie, that she persuaded her 
husband to go. 

The lake shore was charming; for in those early 
days it had not been marred by breakwaters and 
docks. The little party strolled along the beach, 
with the sparkling waves dashing at their feet, and 
the lake spread out before them, vast, fluctuating, 
misty-gray, with here and there a white crest toss- 
ing in the moon. 

Singing snatches of songs with Vinnie, telling 
stories with the captain, skipping pebbles on the 


JACK AND VINNIE IN CHICAGO. 


81 


lake, — ah, how happy Jack was ! He was glad, 
after all, that they had all come together, since 
there was now no necessity of Vinnie’s hastening 
back to the schooner, to prevent her friends from 
sitting up for her. 

“ I ’ve been in this port fifty times,” said the cap- 
tain, “ but I ’ve never been down here before, neither 
has my wife ; and I ’m much obliged to you for 
bringing us.” 

“ I like the lake,” said his wife, “ but I like it best 
from shore.” 

“ 0, so do I ! ” said Vinnie, filled with the peace 
and beauty of the night. 

It was late when they returned to the schooner. 
There Jack took his leave, bidding Vinnie hold her- 
self in readiness to be taken off, with her trunk, in 
a grocer’s wagon early the next morning. 


82 


THE YOUNG * SURVEYOR. 


CHAPTER XI. 
jack’s new home. 

In due time the wagon was driven to the wharf ; 
and Vinnie, parting from the captain and his wife 
with affectionate good-byes, rode out in the freshness 
of the morning across the great plain stretching back 
from the city. 

The plain left behind, groves and streams and high 
prairies were passed ; all wearing a veil of romance 
to the eye of the young girl, which saw everything 
by its own light of youth and hope. 

But the roads were in places rough and full of 
ruts ; the wagon was pretty well loaded ; and Yinnie 
was weary enough, when, late in the afternoon, they 
approached the thriving new village of North Mills. 

“ Here we come to Lanman’s nurseries,” said J ack, 
as they passed a field of rich dark soil, ruled with 
neat rows of very young shrubs and trees. “ Felton 
is interested in the business with him ; and I work 
for them a good deal when we ’ve no surveying to do. 
They ’re hardly established yet ; but they ’re sure of 
a great success within a few years, for all this im- 
• mense country must have orchards and garden fruits, 
you know. Ah, there ’s Lion ! ” 

The dog came bounding to the front wheels. 


jack’s new home. 


83 


whining, barking, leaping np, wagging his tail, and 
finally rolling over in the dirt, to show his joy at 
seeing again his young master. 

The Lanman cottage was close by; and there in 
the door was its young mistress, who, warned by the 
dog of the wagon’s approach, had come out to see if 
Jack’s horse was with him. 

"No news of Snowfoot ? ” she said, walking to the 
gate as the wagon stopped. 

"Not a bit. But I’ve had good luck, after all. 
For here is - — who do you suppose ? Yinnie Dalton ! 
Vinnie, this is the friend you have heard me speak 
of, Mrs. Annie Felton Lanman.” 

Yinnie went out of the wagon almost into the 
arms of Annie ; so well had both been prepared by 
Jack to know and to love each other. 

Of course the young girl received a cordial wel- 
come ; and to her the little cottage seemed the most 
charming in the world. It contained few luxuries, 
but everything in it was arranged with neatness and 
taste, and exhaled an atmosphere of sweetness and 
comfort which mere luxury can never give. 

" Lion has been watching for you with the anxiety 
of a lover all the afternoon,” Mrs. Lanman said to 
Jack, as, side by side, with Yinnie between them, 
they walked up the path to the door. " And he is 
jealous because you don’t give him more attention.” 

" Not jealous ; but he wants to be introduced to 
Yinnie. Here, old fellow ! ” 

Yinnie was delighted to make acquaintance with 


84 


THE YOUNG SURVEYOR. 


the faithful dog, and listened eagerly to Annie’s 
praise of him as they entered the house. 

“ He is useful in doing our errands,” said Mrs. 
Lanman. “If I wish to send him to the grocery 
for anything, I write my order on a piece of paper, 
put it into a basket, and give the basket to him, 
just lifting my finger, and saying, ‘ Go to the 
grocery, go to the grocery/ twice ; and he never 
makes a mistake. To-day, Jack, for the first time, 
he came home without doing his errand.” 

“ Why, Lion ! I ’m surprised at you ! ” said Jack ; 
while Lion lay down on the floor, looking very much 
abashed. 

“I sent him for butter, which we wanted to use 
at dinner. As I knew, when he came back, that 
the order, which I placed in a dish in the basket, 
had not been touched, I sent him again. ‘Don’t 
come home/ I said, ‘till somebody gives you the 
butter.’ He then went, and didn’t return at all. 
So, as dinner-time came, I sent my brother to look 
after him. He found the grocery closed, and Lion 
waiting with his basket on the steps.” 

“The grocer is sick,” Jack explained; “his son 
had gone to town with me ; and so the clerk was 
obliged to shut up the store when he went to din- 
ner.” And he praised and patted Lion, to let him 
know that they were not blaming him for his fail- 
ure to bring the butter. 

“ One day,” said Annie, “ he had been sent to the 
butcher’s for a piece of meat. On his way home he 


jack’s new home. 


85 


saw a small clog of his acquaintance engaged in a 
desperate fight with a big dog, — as big as Lion 
himself. At first he ran up to them much excited ; 
then he seemed to remember his basket of meat. 
He could n’t go into the fight with that, and he was 
too prudent to set it down in the street. For a 
moment he looked puzzled ; then he ran to the 
grocery, which was close by, — the same place where 
we send him for things ; but instead of holding up 
his basket before one of the men, as he does when 
his errand is with them, he went and set it carefully 
down behind a barrel in a corner. Then he rushed 
out and gave the big dog a severe punishing. The 
men in the grocery watched him ; and, knowing that 
he would return for the basket, they hid it in 
another place, to see what he would do. He went 
back into the store, to the corner behind the barrel, 
and appeared to be in great distress. He snuffed 
and whimpered about the store for a while, then ran 
up to the youngest of the men — ” 

“ Horace, — the young fellow who came out with 
us to-day,” commented Jack. “He is full of his 
fun ; and Lion knew that it would be just like him 
to play such a trick.” 

— “ He ran up to Horace,” Annie continued, “ and 
barked furiously ; and became at last so fiercely 
threatening, that it was thought high time to give 
him the basket. Lion took it and ran home in ex- 
traordinary haste ; but it was several days before he 
would have anything more to do with Horace.” 


86 


THE YOUNG SURVEYOR. 


“ Who can say, after this, that dogs do not think ? ” 
said the admiring Yinnie. 

“ Mr. Lanman thinks he has some St. Bernard 
blood,” said Jack, “and that is what gives him his 
intelligence. He knows just what we are talking 
about now ; and see ! he hardly knows whether to 
be proud or ashamed. I don’t approve of his fight- 
ing, on ordinary occasions ; and I ’ve had to punish 
him for it once or twice. The other evening, as 
I was coming home from a hunt after my horse, I 
saw two dogs fighting near the saw-milL” 

Jack had got so far when Lion, who had seemed 
to take pleasure in being in the room till that mo- 
ment, got up very quietly and went out with droop- 
ing ears and tail. 

“ He knows what is coming, and does n’t care to 
hear it. There ’s a little humbug about Lion, as 
there is about the most of us. It was growing dark, 
and the dogs were a little way off, and 1 was n’t 
quite sure of Lion ; but some boys who saw the fight 
told me it was he, and I called to him. But what do 
you think he did ? Instead of running to greet me, 
as he always does when he sees me return after an 
absence, he fought a little longer, then pretended to 
be whipped, and ran around the saw-mill, followed by 
the other dog. The other dog came back, but Lion 
did n’t. I was quite surprised, when I got home, to 
see him rush out to meet me in an ecstasy of de- 
light, as if he then saw me for the first time. His 
whole manner seemed to say, ‘ I am tickled to see 


jack’s new home. 


87 


you, Jack ! and if you think you saw me fighting 
the sawyer’s dog just now, you ’re much mistaken.’ 
I don’t know but I might have been deceived, in 
spite of the boys; but one thing betrayed him, — 
he was wet. In order to get home before me, with- 
out passing me on the road, he had swum the river.” 

“Now you must tell the story of the chickens,” 
said Annie. 

“Another bit of humbug,” laughed Jack. “Our 
neighbors’ chickens trouble us by scratching in our 
yard, and I have told Lion he must keep them out. 
But I noticed that sometimes, even when he had 
been on guard, there were signs that the chickens 
had been there and scratched. So I got Mrs. Lan- 
man to watch him for two or three days, while he 
watched the chickens. Now Lion is very fond of 
company; so, as soon as I was out of sight, he 
would let the chickens come in, and scratch and 
play all about him, while he would lie with his 
nose on his paws and blink at them as good-na- 
turedly as possible. But he kept an eye out for 
me all the while, and the moment I came in sight 
he would jump up, and go to frightening away the 
chickens with a great display of vigor and fidelity. 
So you see, Lion is n’t a perfect character, by any 
means. I could tell you a good deal more about 
his peculiarities ; but I think you are too tired now 
to listen to any more dog stories.” 

Jack carried Yinnie’s trunk to a cosey little room ; 
and there she had time to rest and make herself 


88 


THE YOUNG SURVEYOR. 


presentable, before Mrs. Lanman came to tell her 
that tea was ready. 

“See here, Yinnie, a minute!” said Jack, peeping 
from a half-opened door. “ Don’t make a noise ! ” 
he whispered, as if there were a great mystery with- 
in. “ 1 11 show you something very precious.” 

Mrs. Lanman followed, smiling, as Jack led Yinnie 
to a crib, lifted a light veil, and discovered a lovely 
little cherub of a child, just opening its soft blue 
eyes, and stretching out its little rosy hands, still 
dewy with sleep. 

“0 how sweet!” said Yinnie, thrilled with love 
and tenderness at the sight. 

“ She has a smile for you, see ! ” said the pleased 
young mother. 

Of course Yinnie had never seen so pretty a baby, 
such heavenly eyes, or such cunning little hands. 

“ The hands are little,” said Jack, in a voice which 
had an unaccustomed tremor in it; “but they are 
stronger than a giant’s; they have hold of all our 
heart-strings.” 

“ I never knew a boy so fond of a baby as Jack 
is,” said Annie. 

“ 0, but I should n’t be so fond of any other 
baby ! ” J ack replied, bending down to give the lit- 
tle thing a fond caress. 

As they went out to tea, there was a happy light 
on all their faces, as if some new, deep note of har- 
mony had just been struck in their hearts. 

At tea Yinnie made the acquaintance of Annie’s 


jack’s new home. 


89 


brother and husband, and Jack’s friends, Mr. Forrest 
Felton and Mr. Percy Lanman, and — so pleasant 
and genial were their ways — felt at home in their 
presence at once. This was a great relief to her ; 
for she felt very diffident at meeting men whom she 
had heard Jack praise so highly. 

Any ono could see that Yinnie was not accus- 
tomed to what is called society; but her native 
manners were so simple and sincere, and there was 
such an air of fresh, young, joyous, healthy life 
about her, that she produced an effect upon be- 
holders which the most artificially refined young 
lady might have envied. 

Jack watched her and Annie a good deal slyly; 
and there was in his expression a curious mixture 
of pride and anxiety, as if he were trying to look 
at each with the other’s eyes, and thinking how they 
must like each other, yet having some fears lest they 
might not see all he saw to admire. 

Yinnie was made to talk a good deal of her jour- 
ney ; and she told the story with so much simplicity, 
speaking with unfeigned gratitude and affection of 
the friendships she had made, and touching with 
quiet mirthfulness upon the droll events, as if she 
hardly knew herself that they were droll, that all 
— and especially Jack — were charmed. 

But she had not the least idea of “ showing off.” 
Indeed, she thought scarcely at all of what others 
thought of her; but said often to herself, “What 
a beautiful home Jack has, and what pleasant com- 
panions ! ” 


90 


THE YOUNG SURVEYOR. 


After tea she must see more of the baby; then 
Jack wanted to show her the greenhouses and the 
nurseries; and then all settled down to a social 
evening. 

“ Vinnie is pretty tired,” said Jack, “and I think 
a little music will please her better than any tiling 
else.” 

And so a little concert was got up for her enter- 
tainment. 

Forrest Felton was a fine performer on the flute ; 
Mr. Lanman played the violin, and his wife the 
piano; and they discoursed some excellent music. 
Then, still better, there was singing. The deep- 
chested Forrest had a superb bass voice; Lanman 
a fine tenor; Annie’s voice was light, but exceed- 
ingly sweet and expressive; and they sang several 
pieces together, to her own accompaniment on the 
piano. Then Lanman said, — 

“ Now it is your turn, Jack.” 

“ But you know,” replied Jack, “ I never play or 
sing for anybody, when your wife or Forrest is 
present.” 

“ True ; but you can dance.” 

“ 0 yes ! a dance, Jack ! ” cried Annie. 

Yinnie clapped her hands. “Has Jack told you,” 
she said, “ how, on the steamboat going from Albany 
to New York, after they had had their pockets picked, 
he and George Greenwood collected a little money, — 
George playing the flute and Jack dancing, for the 
amusement of the passengers ? ” 


jack’s new home. 


91 


Jack laughed, and looked at liis shoes. 

“Well, come to the kitchen, where there’s no 
carpet on the floor, and I ’ll give you what I call 
the 'Canal Driver’s Hornpipe.’ Bring your flute, 
Forrest. ” 

So they went to the kitchen ; and all stood, while 
Jack, with wild grace of attitude and wonderful 
ease and precision of movement, performed one of 
his most difficult and spirited dances. 

When it was ended, in the midst of the laughter 
and applause, he caught up a hat, and gayly passed 
it around for pennies. But while the men were 
feeling in their pockets, he appeared suddenly to 
remember where he was. 

“Beg pardon,” he cried, sailing his hat into a 
corner, and whirling on his heel, — “I forgot my- 
self ; I thought I was on the deck of the steam- 
boat!” 

This closed the evening’s entertainment. 

When Vinnie, retiring to her room, laid her head 
on the pillow, she thought of the night before and 
of this night, and asked her heart if it could ever 
again know two evenings so purely happy. 

Then a great wave of anxiety swept over her 
mind, as she thought of the other home, to which 
she must hasten on the morrow. 


92 


THE YOUNG SURVEYOR. 


CHAPTER XII. 
vinnie’s future home. 

A lively sensation was produced, tlie next fore- 
noon, when a youth and a girl, in a one-horse wagon, 
with a big dog and a small trunk, arrived at Lord 
Betterson’s “ castle.” 

Link dashed into the house, screaming, “ They ’ve 
come ! they ’ve come ! ” 

“ Who has come ? ” gasped poor Mrs. Betterson, 
with a start of alarm, glancing her eye about the 
disordered room. 

“ Jack Wliat’s-his-name ! the fellow that shot the 
deer and lost his horse. It’s Aunt Lavinny with 
him, I bet ! ” 

And out the boy rushed again, to greet the new- 
comers. 

Lill, who was once more washing dishes at the 
table, stepped down from her stool, and ran out too, 
drying her fingers on her apron by the way. Eive- 
year-old Chokie got up from his holes in the earth 
by the doorstep, and stood with dangling hands and 
sprawling fingers, grinning, dirty-faced. 

Yinnie, springing to the ground with Jack’s help, 
at the side door caught Lill in her arms, and gave 
her an ardent kiss. 






















i :• M 



• 


































Link doesn’t care to be Kissed. 






vinnie’s future home. 


93 


“ I have heard of you ! ” she said ; for she had 
recognized the bright, wistful face. 

“ Dear auntie ! ” said the child, with tears and 
smiles of joy, “I’m so glad you’ve come!” 

“ Here is Link — my friend Link,” said Jack. 
“Don’t overlook him.” 

“ I ’ve heard a good deal about you too, Link ! ” 
said Vinnie, embracing him also, but not quite so 
impulsively. 

“Ye need n’t mind kissing me ! ” said Link, bash- 
fully turning his face. “ And as for him,” — as she 
passed on to the five-year-old, — “ that ’s Chokie ; 
he’s a reg’lar prairie gopher for digging. holes ; you 
won’t find a spot on him big as a sixpence clean 
enough to kiss, I bet ye two million dollars ! ” 

Yinnie did not accept the wager, convinced, prob- 
ably, that she would lose it if she did. As she bent 
over the child, however, the report of a kiss was 
heard, — a sort of shot in the air, not designed to 
come very near the mark. 

“ I ’m didding a well,” said Chokie, in a solemn 
voice, “ so the boys won’t have to do to the spring 
for water.” 

Mrs. Betterson tottered to the door, convulsively 
wrapping her red shawl about her. 

“Lavinia! Is it sister Lavinia?” 

At sight of her, so pale and feeble, Yinnie was 
much affected. She could hardly speak ; but, sup-, 
porting the emaciated form in her strong, embracing 
arms, she led her back into the house. 


94 


THE YOUNG SURVEYOR. 


“ You are so good to come ! ” said Mrs. Betterson, 
weeping, as she sank in her chair. “ I am worse than 
when I wrote to you ; and the baby is no better ; and 
Cecie — poor Cecie ! though she can sit up hut little, 
she does more than any of us for the sick little thing.” 

Yinnie turned to the lounge, where Cecie, with the 
baby in her arms, lay smiling with bright, moist eyes 
upon the new-comer. She bent over and kissed 
them both ; and, at sight of the puny infant, — so 
pitiful a contrast to Mrs. Lanman’s fair and healthy 
child, — she felt her heart contract with grief and 
her eyes fill. 

Then, as she turned away with an effort at self- 
control, and looked about the room, she must have 
noticed, too, the painful contrast between Jack’s 
home and this, which was to be hers ; and have 
felt a sinking of the heart, which it required all her 
strength and courage to overcome. 

“We are not looking fit to be seen; I know it, 
Lavinia ! ” sighed Mrs. Betterson. “ But you ’ll ex- 
cuse it — you ’ve already excused so many things 
in the past ! It seems a dreadful, unnatural thing 
for our family to be so — so very — yet don’t think 
we are absolutely reduced, Lavinia. Mr. Betterson’s 
connections, as everybody knows, are very wealthy 
and aristocratic, and they are sure to do something 
for him soon. This is my husband, sister Lavinia.” 
And, with a faint simper of satisfaction, she looked 
up at a person who just then entered from an ad- 
joining room. 


vinnie’s future home. 


95 


He was a tall, well-made man, who looked (Vin- 
nie could not help thinking) quite capable of doing 
something for himself. He might have been called 
fine-looking, but that his fine looks, like his gentility, 
of which he made a faded show in his dress and 
manners, appeared to have gone somewhat to seed. 
He greeted Yinnie with polite condescension, said 
a few commonplace words, settled his dignified chin 
in his limp dicky, which was supported by a high, 
tight stock (much frayed about the edges), and went 
on out of the house. 

“Now you have seen him!” whispered Mrs. Bet- 
terson, as if it had been a great event in Vinnie’s 
life. “ Very handsome, and perfectly well-bred, as you 
observe. Not at all the kind of man to be neglected 
by his family, aristocratic as they are ; do you think 
he is ? Yes, my dear Lavinia,” she added, with a 
sickly smile, “ you have seen a real, live Betterson ! ” 

These evidences of a foolish pride surviving afflic- 
tion made poor Yinnie more heartsick than anything 
else; and for a moment the brave girl was almost 
overcome with discouragement. 

In the mean while the real, live Betterson walked 
out into the yard, where Jack — who had not cared 
to follow Yinnie into the house — was talking with 
Link. 

“ Will you walk in, sir ? ” And the stately Better- 
son neck bent slightly in its stiff stock. 

“No, I thank you,” replied Jack. “ But I suppose 
this trunk goes in.” 


96 


THE YOUNG SURVEYOR. 


“ Ah ! to be sure. Lincoln,” — with a wave of the 
aristocratic Betterson hand, — “ show the young man 
where to put the trunk. He can take it to Cecie’s 
room.” 

“ I can, can I ? That ’s a privilege ! ” thought 
Jack. He was perfectly willing to be a porter, or 
anything else, in a good cause ; and it was a delight 
for him to do Yinnie a service ; but why did the 
noble Betterson stand there and give directions about 
the trunk, in that pompous way, instead of taking 
hold of one end of it ? Jack, who had a lively spirit, 
and a tongue of his own, was prompted to say some- 
thing sarcastic, but he wisely forbore. 

“ I ’ll place it here for the present,” he said, and 
set the trunk down by the doorstep. He thought it 
would be better for him to see Yinnie and bid her 
good-by a little later, after the meeting between the 
sisters should be well over; so he turned to Link, 
and asked where his big brothers were. 

“ I d’n’ know,” said Link ; “ guess they ’re down in 
the lot hunting prairie hens.” 

“Let’s go and find ’em,” said Jack. 

Both Link and Lion were delighted with this pro- 
posal, and they set off in high glee, boy and dog 
capering at each side of the more steady-going 
Jack. 


WHY JACK DID NOT FIRE AT THE PRAIRIE CHICKEN. 97 


CHAPTER XIII. 

WHY JACK DID NOT FIRE AT THE PRAIRIE CHICKEN. 

“A well?” said Jack, as they passed a curb be- 
hind the house. “ I thought you had to go to the 
spring for water.” 

“ So we do,” said Link. 

“Why don’t you use the well?” 

“ I d’n’ know ; ’t ain’t good for anything. ’T ain’t 
deep enough.” 

“ Why was n’t it dug deeper ? ” 

“ I d’n’ know ; father got out of patience, I guess, 
or out of money. ’T was a wet time, and the water 
came into it, so they stunned it up ; and now it ’s 
dry all summer.” 

They passed a field on the sunny slope, and Jack 
said, “ What ’s here ? ” 

“ I d’n’ know ; ’t was potatoes, but it ’s run all to 
weeds.” 

“ Why did n’t you hoe them ? ” 

“I d’n’ know; folks kind o’ neglected ’em, till 
’t was too late.” 

Beyond the potatoes was another crop, which the 
weeds, tall as they were, could not hide. 

“ Corn ? ” said Jack. 

“ Meant for corn,” replied Link. " But the cattle 
5 Q 


98 


THE YOUNG SURVEYOR. 


and hogs have been in it, and trampled down the 
rows.” 

“ I should think so ! They look like the last rows 
of summer!” Jack said. “Why don’t you keep the 
cattle and hogs out ? ” 

“ I d’n’ know ; ’t ain’t much of a fence ; hogs run 
under and cattle jump over” 

“ Plenty of timber close by, — why don’t your 
folks make a better fence ? ” 

“I d’n’ know; they don’t seem to take a notion.” 
Jack noticed that the river was quite near, and 
asked if there was good boating. 

“I d’n’ know, — pretty good, only when the wa- 
ter’s too low.” 

“Do you keep a boat?” 

“Not exactly, — we never had one of our own,” 
said Link. “ But one came floating down the river, 
and the boys nabbed that. A fust-rate boat, only it 
leaked like a sieve.” 

“ Leaked ? Does n’t it leak now ? ” 

“No?” said Link, stoutly. “They hauled it up, 
and last winter they worked on it, odd spells, and 
now it don’t leak a drop.” 

Jack was surprised to hear of so much enterprise 
in the Betterson family, and asked, — 

“ Stopped all the leaks in the old boat ! They 
puttied and painted it, I suppose ? ” 

“No, they didn’t.” 

“ Calked and pitched it, then ? ” 

“No, they didn’t.” 


WHY JACK DID NOT FIRE AT THE PRAIRIE CHICKEN. 99 

“ What did they do to it ? ” 

“Made kindling-wood of it,” said Link, laughing, 
and hitching up his one suspender. 

Jack laughed too, and changed the subject. 

“Is that one of your brothers with a gun?” 

“ That ’s Wad ; Rufe is down on the grass.” 

“ What sort of a crop is that, — buckwheat ? ” 

Link grinned. “ There ’s something funny about 
that ! Ye see, a buckwheat-lot is a great place for 
prairie hens. So one day I took the old gun, and 
the powder and shot you gave me for carrying you 
home that night, and went in, and scared up five or 
six, and fired at ’em, but I did n’t hit any. Wad 
came along and yelled at me. ‘ Don’t you know any 
better ’n to be trampling down the buckwheat ? ’ says 
he. ‘Out of there, quicker!’ And he took the gun 
away from me. But he ’d seen one of the hens I 
started light again on the edge of the buckwheat ; so 
he went in to find her. ‘ You ’re trampling the 
buckwheat yourself!’ says T. ‘No, I ain’t,’ says he, 
— ‘ I step between the spears ; and I ’m coming out 
in a minute.’ He stayed in, though, about an hour, 
and went all over the patch, and shot two prairie 
chickens. Then Rufe came along, and he was mad 
enough, ’cause Wad was treading down the buck- 
wheat. ‘Come out of that!’ says he, ‘or I’ll go in 
after ye, and put that gun where you won’t see it 
again.’ So Wad came out; and the sight of his 
chickens made Rufe’s eyes shine. ‘ Did ye shoot 
them in the buckwheat ? ’ says he. ‘ Yes,’ says Wad ; 


100 


THE YOUNG SURVEYOR. 


‘ and I could shoot plenty more ; the patch is full of 
’em.’ Eufe said he wanted the gun to go and shoot 
ducks with, on the river ; but he did n’t find any 
ducks, and coming along back he thought he would 
try his luck in the buckwheat, — treading between, 
the spears ! He had shot three prairie chickens, 
when father came along, and scolded him, and made 
him come out. ‘I’ve heard you fire twenty times,’ 
says father ; ‘ you ’re wasting powder and ruining the 
crop. Let me take the gun.’ ‘ But you must n’t ruin 
the crop,’ says Eufe. Father ’s a splendid shot, — 
can drop a bird every time, — only he don’t like to 
go hunting very often. He thought ’t would pay for 
him to go through the patch once; besides, he said, 
if the birds were getting the buckwheat, we might as 
well get the birds. He thought he could tread be- 
tween the spears! Well, since then,” said Link, 
“we’ve just made a hunting-ground of that patch, 
always treading between the spears till lately ; now 
it ’s got so trampled it never ’ll pay to cut it ; so we 
just put it through. See that hen!” 

There was a sound of whirring wings, - — a flash, a 
loud report, a curl of smoke, — a broken-winged 
grouse shooting down aslant into the buckwheat, and 
a young hunter running to the spot. 

“ That ’s the way he does it,” said Eufe, getting up 
from the grass. 

He greeted Jack good-naturedly, inquired about 
Snowfoot, heard with surprise of Vinnie’s arrival, 
and finally asked if Jack would like to try his hand 
at a shot. 


"WHY JACK DID NOT FIRE AT THE PRAIRIE CHICKEN. 10.1 

“ I should,” replied Jack, “ if it was n’t for tread- 
ing down your buckwheat.” 

“ That ’s past caring for,” said Bufe, with a laugh. 
“ Here, Wad, bring us the gun.” 

“ Is that your land the other side of the fence ? ” 
Jack asked. 

“That lot belongs to old Peakslow,” said Eufe, 
speaking the name with great contempt. “ And he 
pretends to claim a big strip this side too. That ’s 
what caused the feud between our families.” 

“ He hates you pretty well, I should judge,” replied 
Jack; and he told the story, as Vinnie had told it to 
him, of her encounter with Peakslow on the deck of 
the schooner. 

“ He ’s the ugliest man ! ” Eufe declared, reddening 
angrily. “ You may thank your stars you ’ve nothing 
to do with him. How take the gun,” — Wad had by 
this time brought it, — “ go through to the fence and 
back, and be ready to fire the moment a bird rises. 
Keep your dog back, and look out and not hit one of 
Peakslow’s horses, the other side of the fence.” 

“ He brought home a new horse from Chicago a 
day or two ago,” said Wad ; “ and he ’s just been out 
there looking at him and feeling for ringbones. If 
he ’s with him now, and if you should happen to rf : 
shoot one of ’em, I hope it won’t be the horse ! ” 

Jack laughed, and started to go through the buck- 
wheat. He had got about half-way, when a hen rose 
a few feet from him, at his right. He was not much 
accustomed to shooting on the wing ; and it is much 


102 


THE YOUNG SURVEYOR. 


harder to hit birds rising suddenly, at random, in that 
way, than when they are started by a trained dog. 
But good luck made up for what he lacked in skill ; 



SHOT ON THE WING. 


and at his fire the hen dropped fluttering -in the grass 
that bordered the buckwheat. 

“ 1 11 her up ! ” cried Link ; and he ran to do 


WHY JACK DID NOT FIRE AT THE PRAIRIE CHICKEN. 103 

so ; while Wad carried Jack the powder and shot for 
another load. 

“ But I ought not to use up your ammunition in 
this way ! ” Jack protested. 

“ I guess you can afford to,” replied Wad. “It 
was mostly bought with money we sold that fawn- 
skin for.” 

Jack was willing enough to try another shot ; and, 
the piece reloaded, he resumed his tramp. 

He had nearly reached the fence, when a bird rose 
between it and him, and flew over Peakslow’s pasture. 
Jack had brought the gun to his shoulder, and was 
about to pull the trigger, when he remembered Peak- 
slow’s horses, and stopped to give a hasty glance over 
the fence. 

Down went the gun, and Jack stood astonished, the 
bird forgotten, and his eyes fixed on an object be- 
yond. 

What Wad said of their neighbor having brought 
out a new horse from Chicago, together with what 
the captain of the Heron said of one of Peakslow’s 
span being a light roan, rushed through his thoughts. 
He ran up to the fence, and looked eagerly over ; 
then gave a shout of joy. 

After all his futile efforts to find him, — chasing 
about the country, offering rewards, scattering hand- 
bills, — there was the lost horse, the veritable Snow- 
foot, grazing quietly in the amiable Mr. Peakslow’s 
pasture ! 


104 


THE YOUNG SURVEYOR. 


CHAPTER XIV. 
snowfoot’s new owner. 

Jack left the gun standing by the fence, leaped 
over, gave a familiar whistle, and called, “Come, 
Snowfoot ! Co’ jock ! co’ jock ! ” 

There were two horses feeding in the pasture, not 
far apart. But only one heeded the call, lifted head, 
pricked up ears, and answered with a whinny. It 
was the lost Snowfoot, giving unmistakable signs of 
pleasure and recognition, as he advanced to meet his 
young master. 

Jack threw his arms about the neck of his favorite, 
and hugged and patted and I don’t know hut kissed 
him ; while the Betterson boys went up to the fence 
and looked wonderingly over. 

In a little while, as they did not venture to go to 
him, Jack led Snowfoot by the forelock up to the 
rails, which they had climbed for a better view. 

“ Is he your horse ? ” they kept calling to him. 

“Don’t you see ? ” replied Jack, when he had come 
near enough to show the white feet and the scars ; 
and his face gleamed with glad excitement. “ Look ! 
he and the dog know each other ! ” 

It was not a Betterson, but a Peakslow style of 
fence, and Lion could not leap it ; but the two ani- 


snowfoot’s new owner. 


105 


mals touched noses, with tokens of friendly recogni- 
tion, between the rails. 

“ I never expected such luck ! ” said Jack. “ I ’ve 
not only found my horse, hut I ’ve saved the reward 
offered.” 

“ You have n’t got him yet,” said Rufe. “ I guess 
Peakslow will have something to say about that.” 

“ What he says won’t make much difference. I ’ve 
only to prove property, and take possession. A stolen 
horse is the owner’s, wherever he finds him. But of 
course I ’ll act in a fair and open way in the matter ; 
I ’ll go and talk with Peakslow, and if he ’s a reason- 
able man — ” 

“ Reasonable ! ” interrupted Wad. “ He holds a 
sixpence so near to his eye, that it looks bigger to 
him than all the rest of the world ; he can’t see rea- 
son, nor anything else.” 

“ I ’ll make him see it. Will you go and intro- 
duce me ? ” 

“You ’d better not have one of our family intro- 
duce you, if you want to get anything out of Dud 
Peakslow ! ” said Rufe. “ We ’ll wait here.” 

Jack got over the fence, and walked quickly along 
on the Betterson side of it, followed by Lion, until he 
reached the road. A little farther down was a house ; 
behind the house was a yard ; and in the yard was a 
swarthy man with a high, hooked nose, pulling a 
wheel off a wagon, the axletree of which, on that 
side, was supported by a propped rail. Close by was 
a boy stirring some grease in a pot, with a long stick. 

5 * 


106 


THE YOUNG SURVEYOR. 


Jack waited until the man had got the wheel off 
and rested it against the wagon ; then said, — 

“ Is this Mr. Peakslow ? ” 

“ That happens to be my name,” replied the man, 
scarcely giving his visitor a glance, as he turned to 
take the stick out of the grease, and to rub it on the 
axletree. 

The boy, on one knee in the dirt, holding the 
grease-pot to catch the drippings, looked up and 
grinned at Jack. 

“ I should like a few minutes’ talk with you, Mr. 
Peakslow, when you are at leisure,” said Jack, hardly 
knowing how to introduce his business. 

“'I ’m at leisure now, much as I shall be to-day,” 
said Mr. Peakslow with the air of a man who did not 
let words interfere with work. “ I ’ve got to grease 
this wagon, and then harness up and go to haulin’. 
I have n’t had a hoss that would pull his share of a 
decent load till now. Tend to what you ’re about, 
Zeph!” 

“ I have called to say,” remarked Jack as calmly as 
he could, though his heart was beating fast, “ that 
there is a horse in your pasture which belongs to 
me.” 

The man straightened his bent back, and looked 
blackly at the speaker, while the grease dripped from 
the end of the stick. 

“ A hoss in my pastur’ that belongs to you ! What 
do ye mean by that ? ” 

“ Perhaps you have n’t seen this handbill ? ” And 


snowfoot’s new owner. 


107 


Jack took the printed description of Snowfoot from 
his pocket, unfolded it, and handed it to the aston- 
ished Peakslow. 



THE AMIABLE MR. PEAKSLOW. 


“ * Twenty dollars reward/ ” he read. “ ‘ Stolen 
from the owner — a light, reddish roan boss — white 


108 


THE YOUNG SURVEYOR. 


forefeet — scar low down on the near side, jest be- 
hind the shoulder — smaller scar on the off' hip/ 
What ’s the meanin’ of all this ? ” he said, glancing 
at Jack. 

“ Is n’t it plain enough ? ” replied Jack, quietly 
standing his ground. “ That is the description of the 
stolen horse ; the horse is down in your pasture.” 

“ Do you mean to say I ’ve stole your hoss ? ” de- 
manded Peakslow, his voice trembling with passion. 

“ Not by any means. He may have passed through 
a dozen hands since the thief had him. All I know 
is, he is in your possession now.” 

“ And what if he is ? ” 

“ Why, naturally a man likes to have what is his 
own, does n’t he ? Suppose a man steals your horse ; 
you find him after a while in my stable ; is he your 
horse, or mine ? ” 

" But how do I know but this is a conspyracy to 
cheat me out of a hoss ? ” retorted Peakslow, looking 
again at the handbill, with a terrible frown. “It 
may have all been cut and dried aforehand. You ’ve 
your trap sot, and, soon as ever the animal is in my 
hands, ye spring it. How do I know the hoss is 
yourn, even if ye have got a description of him ? 
Anybody can make a description of anybody’s hoss, 
and then go and claim him. Besides, how happens 
it a boy like you owns a hoss, anyway ? ” 

In a few words Jack told his story, accounting at 
once for his ownership, and for the scars on the 
horse’s side and hip. 


snowfoot’s new owner. 


109 


“ There are two other scars I can show yon, under 
his belly. I did n’t mention them in the hand- 
bill, because they are not noticeable, unless one is 
looking for them.” 

“ Ye may show me scars all over him, fur ’s I 
know,” was Peakslow’s reply to this argument. 
“That may prove that he ’s been hurt by suth’n 
or other, — elephant, or not ; but it don’t prove you 
ever owned him ” 

“ I can satisfy you with regard to that,” said Jack, 
confidently. “ Do you object to going down with me 
and looking at him ? ” 

“Not in the least, only wait till I git this wheel 
on. Ye may go and see the lioss in my presence, but 
ye can’t take the hoss, without I ’m satisfied you ’ve 
the best right to him.” 

“ That ’s all I ask, Mr. Peakslow ; I want only 
what belongs to me. If you are a loser, you must 
look for redress to the man who sold you my prop- 
erty ; and he must go back on the next man.” 

“How ’s that?” put in Zepli, grinning over his 
grease-pot. “ Pa thinks he ’s got a good deal better 
hoss than he put away ; and you ain’t agoin’ to crowd 
him out of a good bargain, I bet ! ” 

“ Hold your tongue ! ” growled Peakslow. “ I can 
fight my own battles, without any of your tongue. I 
put away a pooty good hoss, and I gin fifteen dollars 
to boot.” 

“What man did you trade with ? ” Jack inquired. 

“ A truckman in Chicago. He liked my hoss, and 


110 


THE YOUNG SURVEYOR. 


I liked hisn, and we swapped. He wanted twenty 
dollars, I offered him ten, and we split the difference. 
He won’t want to give me back my hoss and my 
money, now; and ye can’t blame him. And the next 
man won’t want to satisfy him . Grant the hoss is 
stole, for the sake of the argyment,” said Peakslow. 
“ I maintain that when an animal that ’s been stole, 
and sold, and traded, finally gits into an honest man’s 
hands, it ’s right he should stay there.” 

“ Even if it ’s your horse, and the honest man who 
gets him is your neighbor ? ” queried Jack. 

“ I do’no’ — wal — yes ! ” said Peakslow. “ It ’s a 
hard case, but no harder one way than t’ other.” 

“ But the law looks at it in only one way,” replied 
Jack. “And with reason. Men must be careful 
how they deal with thieves or get hold of stolen 
property. How happens it that you, Mr. Peakslow, 
did n’t know that such a horse had been stolen ? 
Some of your neighbors knew it very well.” 

“Some of my neighbors I don’t have nothin’ to 
say to,” answered Peakslow, gruffly. “ If you mean 
the Bettersons, they ’re a pack of thieves and robbers 
themselves, and I don’t swap words with none of ’em, 
without ’t is to tell ’em my mind ; that I do, when 
I have a chance.” 

“You use pretty strong language when you call 
them thieves and robbers, Mr. Peakslow.” 

“ Strong or not, it ’s the truth. Hain’t they cheated 
me out o’ the best part of my farm ? ” 

“ The Bettersons — cheated you ! ” exclaimed Jack. 


SNOWFOOT’S NEW OWNER. 


Ill 


They were now on the way to the pasture ; and 
Peakslow, in a sort of lurid excitement, pointed to 
the boundary fence. 

" My line, by right, runs five or six rod t’ other 
side. I took up my claim here, and Betterson 
bought hisn, ’fore ever the guv’ment survey run 
through. That survey fixed my line ’way over 
yender in their cornfield. And there I claim it 
belongs, to this day.” 

“But, Mr. Peakslow, how does it happen that a 
man like Mr. Betterson has been able to rob a man 
like you , — take a part of your farm before your 
very eyes ? He is a rather slack, easy man ; while 
you, if I ’m not greatly mistaken, are in the habit 
of standing up for your rights.” 

“ I can gin’ly look out for myself,” said Peakslow. 
“ And don’t suppose that Lord Betterson took me 
down and put his hands in my pockets, alone.” 

“Nine men, with masks on,” cried Zeph, "come 
to our house one night, and told pa they ’d jest tear 
his ruf right down over his head, and drive him out 
of the county, if he did n’t sign a deed givin’ Bet- 
terson that land.” 

" Hold your yawp, Zeph ! ” muttered Peakslow. 
" I can tell my own story. There was nine of ’em, 
all armed, and what could I do ? ” 

"This is a most extraordinary story!” exclaimed 
Jack. " Did you sign the deed ? ” 

" I could n’t help myself,” said Peakslow. 

" It seems to me I would have helped myself, if 


112 


THE YOUNG SURVEYOR. 


the land was rightfully mine ! ” cried Jack “They 
might tear my house down, — they might try to drive 
me out of the county, — I don’t believe I would 
deed away my land, Just because they threatened 
me, and I was afraid.” 

“It’s easy to talk that way,” Peakslow replied. 
“ But, come case in hand, — the loaded muzzles in 
your face, — you ’d change your mind.” 

“ Did n’t they pay for the land they took ? ” 

“Barely nothin’; jest the guv’ment price; dollar 
’n’ a quarter an acre. But jest look at that land 
to-day, — the best in the State, — wuth twenty dol- 
lars an acre, if ’t is a cent.” 

“What was Betterson’s claim?” Jack asked; “for 
men don't often do such things without some sort 
of excuse.” 

“ They hild that though the survey gin me the 
land, it was some Betterson had supposed belonged 
to his purchase. Meanwhile he had j’ined a land- 
claim society, where the members all agreed to stand 
by one another; and that was the reason o’ their 
takin’ sich high-handed measures with me.” 

Jack was inclined to cross-question Peakslow, and 
sift a little this astonishing charge against Betterson 
and the land-claim society. But they had now 
reached the pasture bars, and the question relating 
to the ownership of the horse was to be settled. 

The Betterson boys were still sitting on the fence, 
where Jack had left them ; but Snowfoot had re- 
turned to his grazing. 


snowfoot’s NEW OWNER. 113 

“Call him/’ said Jack. “If he doesn’t come for 
you, then see if he will come for me.” 

Peakslow grumhlingly declined the test. 

“ He does n’t always come when I call him,” said 
Jack. “I’ll show you what I do then. Here, 
Lion!” 

He took from his pocket an ear of corn he had 
picked by the way, placed one end of it between 
the dog’s jaws, saying, “Bring Snowfoot, Lion! bring 
Snowfoot ! ” and let him through the bars. 

Lion trotted into the pasture, trotted straight up 
to the right horse, coaxed and coquetted with him 
for a minute, and then trotted hack. Snowfoot fol- 
lowed, leering and nipping, and trying to get the ear 
of corn. 

Lion brought the ear to Jack, and Jack gave it 
to Snowfoot, taking him at the same time by the 
forelock. 

“What do you think of that?” he said, looking 
round in triumph at Peakslow. 

“ I don’t see as it ’s anything to make sich a fuss 
over,” said Peakslow, looking angrily across at the 
spectators on the boundary fence, as they cheered 
the success of the manoeuvre. “ It shows you ’ve 
larnt your dog tricks, — nothin’ more. ’Most any 
boss would foller an ear of corn that way.” 

“ Why did n’t your hoss follow it ? ” 

“ The dog did n’t go for my hoss.” 

“ Why did n’t he go for your horse, as soon as for 
mine?” urged Jack. 


114 


THE YOUNG SURVEYOR. 


To which Peakslow could only reply, — 

“Ye needn’t let down the top bar; ye can’t take 
that lioss through ! I traded for him, and paid boot, 
and you ’ve got to bring better evidence than your 
say-so, or a dog’s trick, ’fore I give up my claim.” 

“ I ’ll bring you evidence,” said Jack, turning away 
in no little impatience and disgust. 

He hastened back to Mr. Betterson’s house, and 
was met by the boys as he came into the yard. 

“What did I tell you?” said Bufe. “Couldn’t 
get him, could you ? ” 

“No, but I will !” replied Jack, untying the horse, 
which he had left hitched to an oak-tree. “ I ’m 
going for a witness.” He backed the wagon around. 
“ Get in, if you like,” — to Bufus. 

Bufus did like ; and the two rode off together, to 
the great dissatisfaction of Wad and Link, who also 
wanted to go and see the fun. 


GOING FOR A WITNESS. 


115 


CHAPTER XV. 

GOING FOR A WITNESS. 

“Did Peakslow say anything to you about our 
folks ? ” Rufe asked. 

“I rather think he did!” said Jack; and he re- 
peated the story of the land robbery. 

Rufe showed his contempt for it by a scornful 
laugh. “ I ’ll tell you just what there is in it ; and 
it will show you the sort of man you have to deal 
with. We haven’t an inch of his land. Do you 
think father is a man to crowd a neighbor?” 

“And a neighbor like Peakslow! That’s just 
what I told him,” said Jack. 

“You see,” said Rufe, “these claims through here 
were all taken up before the government survey. 
Most of the settlers were decent men ; and they 
knew that when the survey came to be made, there 
would be trouble about the boundaries, if they did n’t 
take measures beforehand to prevent it. So they 
formed a society to protect each other against squat- 
ters and claim-jumpers, and particularly to settle dis- 
puted boundary questions between themselves. They 
all signed a paper, agreeing to ‘ deed and redeed,’ — 
that is, if your land adjoined mine, and the govern- 
ment survey did n’t correspond with our lines, but 


116 


TIIE YOUNG SURVEYOR. 


gave you, for instance, a part of the land I had im- 
proved, then you agreed to redeed that part to me, 
for the government price; just as I agreed to redeed 
to my neighbors what the survey might give me of 
their claims.” 

“I understand,” said Jack. 

“ Well, father and almost everybody in the county 
joined the society ; but there were some who did n’t. 
Peakslow was one.” 

“What were his objections?” 

“ He could n’t give any good ones. All he would 
say was, ‘ I ’ll see ; I ’ll think about it.’ He was just 
waiting to see if there was any advantage to he 
gained over his neighbors by not joining with them. 
Finally, the survey came through ; and the men run 
what they called a ‘ random line,’ which everybody 
thought, at first, was the true line. According to 
that, the survey would have given us a big strip of 
Peakslow’s farm, including his house and barn. That 
frightened him. He came over, and shook his fist in 
father’s face, and threatened I don’t know what, if he 
took the land. 

“‘You really think I ought to redeed to you all 
your side of our old line?’ says father. 

“‘Of course I do!’ says Peakslow. ‘It’s mine; # 
you never claimed it ; and I ’ll shoot the fust man 
who sets foot on ’t, to take it away from me.’ 

“‘Then,’ says father, ‘why don’t you join the soci- 
ety, and sign the agreement to redeed, with the rest 
of us ? That will save trouble.’ 


GOING FOR A WITNESS. 


117 


“ So Peakslow rushed off in a fearful hurry, and 
put his name to the paper. Then — what do you 
think ? The surveyors, in a few days, run the cor- 
rect line, and that gave Peakslow a strip of our 
farm.” 

“ Capital ! ” laughed Jack. 

“ It was n’t capital for us ! He was then, if you 
will believe it, more excited than when the boot 
seemed to be on the other leg. He vowed that the 
random line was a mere pretence to get him to sign 
the agreement; that it was all a fraud, which he 
never would submit to ; that he would n’t redeed, 
hut that he would have what the survey gave him. 
That ’s the kind of man he is,” added Rufus. 

“ But he did redeed ? ” 

“ Yes, in some such way as he told you. The dis- 
pute came before the society for arbitration, and of 
course the decision was in father’s favor. But Peak- 
slow still held out, and talked of shooting and all 
that sort of thing, till the society got tired of his non- 
sense. So, one night, nine men did give him a call ; 
they had called on a claim-jumper down the river a 
few nights before, and made kindling-wood of his 
shanty; Peakslow knew it, and knew they were not 
men to be trifled with. They told him that if he ex- 
pected to live in the county, he must sign the deed. 
And he signed it. My father was n’t one of the men, 
but Peakslow turned all his spite against him.” 

“He imagines he has been wronged,” said Jack. 

“I suppose so, for he is one of that kind who 


118 


THE YOUNG SURVEYOR. 


never can see any side to a quarrel but their own. 
The land is growing more valuable every year; he 
covets it accordingly, and so the ferment in his mind 
is kept up. Of course,” Eufe confessed, “ we have 
done, or neglected to do, a good many things which 
have kept adding fuel to the fire ; for it ’s impossible 
to live peaceably alongside of such a selfish, passion- 
ate, unreasonable neighbor. We boys have taken up 
the quarrel, and now I owe that Zeph a cudgelling, 
for hurting Cecie.” 

“How did he hurt her?” 

“ We had a swing up in the woods. The Peak- 
slows are always interfering in our affairs, and, one 
day, when Link and the girls went to swing, they 
found a couple of little Peakslows there. Link drove 
’em away, and they went off bellowing to their big 
brothers. In a little while Zeph came along, when 
Cecie happened to be in the swing ; and he pushed 
her so hard that she fell out.” 

“ I should n’t think cudgelling him would give you 
much satisfaction,” said Jack. “It was a dreadful 
thing to happen ! But did he intend it ? ” 

“ I don’t think he is sorry for it. Father went 
to see Mr. Peakslow about it; but he got nothing 
but abuse from him. What do you think he said ? 
‘ The swing,’ says he, ‘is on a part of the land you 
robbed me of; if you had gin me what the guv’- 
ment survey did, then your children would n’t have 
been there, and the thing would n’t have occurred.’ 
That is the man who has got your horse.” 


GOING FOR A WITNESS. 


119 


Meanwhile, they had driven past Peakslow’s house, 
proceeding down the river road ; and now once more 
Jack reined up before old Wiggett’s cabin. 

At the sight of the wagon approaching three or 
four half-naked little barbarians ran into the house, 
like wild creatures into their hole, giving an alarm 
which brought out old Wiggett himself, stooping 
through the low doorway. 

“ Mr. Wiggett, do you remember me ? ” said Jack. 

“ Wal, I reckon!” said the old man, advancing to 
the wagon, reaching up, and giving Jack’s hand a 
hearty shake. “ You ’re the young chap that found 
my section corner.” 

“ And do you remember my horse ? ” 

“ I ’low I oughter ; for your elephant story, and 
the scars you showed me, was drea’ful curi’s. I 
heard the hoss was stole.” 

“H q was stolen. But I have found him; and I 
want you to go with me and identify him, if you will 
be so good. Mr. Peakslow has him.” 

“ Peakslow ? ” said the old man, with a dubious 
shake of the head. “ It ’s nigh about the easiest 
thing in the world to git into trouble with Dud 
Peakslow. I gener’ly go my way, and let Peakslow 
go hisn, and waste few words on him. But I don’t 
mind gwine with ye, if ye say so. How did Peak- 
slow come by him ? ” 

Jack told the story, whilst driving back to Peak- 
slow’s house. There he left Rufus in the wagon, and 
walked on with Mr. Wiggett into the barnyard. 


120 


THE YOUNG SURVEYOR. 


CHAPTEE XVI. 

PEAKSLOW GETS A QUIRK IN HIS HEAD. 

Peakslow had finished greasing his wheels, and 
was about harnessing a pair of horses which Zeph 
held by their halters at the door of a log-stable. 
One of the horses was Snowfoot. 

“Please wait a minute, Mr. Peakslow,” said Jack, 
turning pale at the sight. “ I ’ve brought a witness 
to prove my property.” 

Peakslow looked at his neighbor Wiggett, and 
gave a grunt. 

“ So you Ve come to interfere in this business, hey?” 

Mr. Wiggett made no reply, but walked up to 
Snowfoot, stroked his sides, exaijiined the scars, 
looked at him before and behind, and nodded slowly 
several times. Then he spoke. 

“ I h ain’t come over to interfere in nobody’s busi- 
ness, Mr. Peakslow. But I happen to know this yer 
young man ; and- 1 know this yer hoss. At his re- 
quest, I ’ve come over to say so. I could pick out 
that animal, and sw’ar to him, among ten thousan’.” 

“ What can you swear to ? ” Peakslow demanded, 
poising a harness. 

“ I can sw’ar this is the hoss the young man druv 
the day he come over to find my section corner.” 


PEAKSLOW GETS A QUIRK IN HIS HEAD. 121 

“That all?” 

“ Is n’t that enough ? ” said Jack. 

“ No ! ” said Peakslow, and threw the rattling har- 
ness upon Snowfoot’s back. “It don’t prove the 
hoss belonged to you, if ye did drive him. And, 
even though he did belong to you, it don’t prove but 
what ye sold him arterward, and then pretended he 
was stole, to cheat some honest man out of his 
prop’ty. Hurry up, boy ! buckle them hames.” 
And he went to throw on the other harness. 

J ack stepped in Zeph’s way. “ This is my horse, 
and I ’ve a word to say about buckling those hames.” 

“ Ye mean to hender my work ? ” roared Peakslow, 
turning upon him. “Ye mean to git me mad ? ” 

Jack had before been hardly able to speak, for 
his rising wrath and beating heart; but he was 
now getting control of himself. 

“I don’t see the need of anybody’s getting mad, 
Mr. Peakslow. There ’s a right and a wrong in 
this case; and if we both want the right, we shall 
agree.” 

“ Every man has his own way o’ lookin’ at the 
right,” said Peakslow, slightly mollified. “ The 
right, to your notion, is that I shall give ye up 
the hoss. I ’ve got possession of the hoss, and I 
mean to keep possession ; and that ’s what ’s about 
right, to my notion.” 

“I want only what is lawfully my own,” Jack 
answered, firmly. “ If you want what is n’t yours, 
that ’s not right, but wrong. There ’s such a thing 

6 


122 


THE YOUNG SURVEYOR. 


as justice, aside from our personal interest in a 
matter.” 

Probably Peakslow had never thought of that. 

“ Wal, what ye goin’ to do about it ? ” he asked. 

"I am going to have my horse,” replied Jack. 
“ If you let me take him peaceably, very well. If 
you compel me to go to law, I shall have him all 
the same, and you will have the costs to pay.” 

Peakslow winced. The threat of costs touched 
him in his tenderest spot. 

“ How ’s that ? ” he anxiously asked. 

“ I have n’t been about the country looking for 
my horse, without knowing something of the law 
for the recovery of stolen property,” replied Jack. 
“If I find him in your hands, and you give him 
up, I ’ve no action against you. If you hold on to 
him, I can do one of two things. I can go to a 
magistrate, and by giving bonds to an amount that 
will cover all damages to you or anybody else if I 
fail to make good my claim, get out a writ of re- 
plevin, and send a sheriff with it to take the horse. 
Or I can let you keep him, and sue you for damages. 
In either case, the one who is beaten will have the 
costs to pay,” Jack insisted, turning the screw again 
where he saw it pinch. 

The swarthy brow was covered with perspiration, 
as Peakslow answered, making a show of bluster, — 

“ I can fight ye with the law, or any other way, 
’s long ’s you want to fight. I ’ve got money. Ye 
can’t scare me with your sheriffs and writs. But 


PEAKSLOW GETS A QUIRK IN HIS HEAD. 123 


jest look at it. I ’m to be thro wed out of a hoss 
at a busy time o’ year. You wouldn’t like that, 
Mr. Wiggett — you nor nobody else.” 

“No,” said Mr. Wiggett, who stood looking on in 
an impartial way, “ it mout n’t feel good, I allow. 
And it don’t seem like it w T ould feel much better, 
to have to stan’ by and see a hoss that was stole 
from me, bein’ worked by a neighbor. This yer 
young man tells a straightfor’ard story, and there ’s 
no doubt of its bein’ his hoss. You ’ve no doubt 
on ’t in your own mind, Dudley Peakslow. If he 
goes to law, he ’ll bring his proofs, — he ’s got friends 
to back him, — and you ’ll lose. Then why not 
come to a right understandin’, and save right smart 
o’ trouble and cost. I ’low that ’ll be best for both.” 

“ Wal, what ’s your idee of a right understandin’ ? ” 
said Peakslow, flushed and troubled, turning to Jack. 
“ My hoss is in Chicago — that is, if this hoss ain’t 
mine. I might go in and see about gittin’ on him 
back, but I don’t want to spend the time, ’thout I 
can take in a little jag o’ stuff ; and how can I do 
that, if you break up my team ? ” 

“ Mr. Peakslow,” replied J ack, quickly making up 
his mind what he would do, “while I ask for my 
rights, I don’t wish to put you or any man to an 
inconvenience.” He took Snowfoot by the bridle. 
“Here is my horse; and, with Mr. Wiggett for a 
witness, I make you this offer: you may keep him 
one week, and do any light work with him you 
please. You may drive him to Chicago, and use 


124 


THE YOUNG SURVEYOR. 


him in recovering your horse from the truckman. 
But mind, you are to he responsible for him, and 
bring him back with you. Is that a fair proposal ? 99 

“ Wal, I do’no’ but what ’t is ; I ’ll think on ’t.” 

“ I want you to say now, in Mr. Wiggett’s pres- 
ence, whether you accept it.” 

“ I ’ll agree to bring him back ; but I do’no’ ’bout 
deliverin’ on him up to you,” said Peakslow. 

“ Leave it so, then,” replied J ack, with a confident 
smile. “I call you to witness, Mr. Wiggett, that 
the horse is in my possession now ” (he still held 
Snowfoot by the bridle), “ and that I lend him to 
Mr. Peakslow. Now you can buckle the hames, 
Zeph,” letting go the bridle, and stepping back. 

“ Gi’ me a copy o’ that handbill,” said Peakslow. 
“I shall want that, and I ought to have a witness 
besides, to make the truckman hear to reason.” 

“ If he happens to be an unreasonable man,” said 
Jack, with a smile, “you have the same remedy 
which I have, — a suit for damages. I don’t believe 
he will wait for that. I ’ll see you in one week. 
Good-day, Mr. Peakslow.” 

“ Looks like you was takin’ a big resk, to let him 
drive the hoss to Chicago,” Mr. Wiggett remarked 
confidentially, following Jack out of the yard. 

“ I don’t see that it is,” Jack replied, wiping the 
sweat from his forehead. “ I did n’t wish to be 
hard on him. It does men good, sometimes, to 
trust them.” 

“Mabbe. But Dud Peakslow ain’t like no other 


PEAIvSLOW GETS A QUIRK IN HIS HEAD. 125 


man ye ever see. He ’s got some quirk in his head, 
or he never ’d have agreed to be responsible for the 
lioss and bring him back ; ye may bet on that. He 
means to take some advantage. How I ’m interested 
in the case, and I shall hate to see you swindled.” 

Jack thanked the old man warmly ; but he failed 
to see what advantage Peakslow could hope to gain. 

“ I know him a heap better ’n you dew,” said 
Mr. Wiggett. “Now, it struck me, when he said 
he might need a witness, I ’d offer to go with him 
to Chicago. I could help him with the truckman, 
and mabbe find out what new trick he ’s up tew. 
Anyhow, I could look arter your hoss a little.” 

“ That would oblige me ever so much ! ” exclaimed 
Jack. “ But I see no reason why you should take 
that trouble for me.” 

“ I take a notion tew ye, in the fust place. Next 
place, I ’ve been gwine to Chicago for the past tew 
weeks, but couldn’t somehow git started. Now, 
banged if I won’t go in with Peakslow!” 

Having parted with Jack, the old man returned to 
propose the arrangement to his neighbor. He was 
just in time to hear Peakslow say to his son, — 

“ I see a twist in this matter ’t he don’t, shrewd 
as he thinks he is. If I lose a good bargain, I ’m 
bound to make it up ’fore ever this hoss goes out 
of my hands. You ag’in, Wiggett?” 

It was Mr. Wiggett, who concluded that he was 
quite right in saying that Peakslow had a quirk in 
his head. 


126 


THE YOUNG SURVEYOR. 


CHAPTER XVII. 

VINNIE MAKES A BEGINNING. 

Vinnie learned only too soon why Jack had 
dreaded so much to have her enter the Betterson 
household ; and, in a momentary depression of spirits, 
she asked herself whether, if she had known all she 
was undertaking, she would not have shrunk from it. 

The sight of the sick ones, the mother enfeebled in 
mind as well as in body, Lord Betterson pompous 
and complacent in the midst of so much misery, 
little Lill alone making headway against a deluge of 
disorder, — all this filled her with distress and dis- 
may. 

She could think of no relief but in action. 

“ I shall stifle,” thought she, “ unless I go to work 
at once, setting things to rights.” 

And the thought of helping others cheered herself. 

She needed something from her trunk. That was 
at the door, just where Jack had left it. She went 
out, and found that Chokie had changed his mind 
with regard to digging a well, and was building a 
pyramid, using the door-yard sand for his material, a 
shingle for a shovel, and the trunk for a foundation. 

“ Why, Chokie ! ” she said ; “ what are you doing ? ” 

“ I makiiT a Fourth-of-Duly,” replied Chokie, flour- 


VINNIE MAKES A BEGINNING. 127 

ishing his shingle. “After I dit it about twice as 
bid as the house, I doin’ to put some powder in it, 
and tout’th it off.” 

“ O dear ! ” said Vinnie ; “I’m afraid you ’ll blow 
iny trunk to pieces ; and I must have my trunk 
now ! ” 

“ I doin’ to blow it to pieces, and you tan’t have 
it,” cried Chokie, stoutly. 

“ But I ’ve something for you in it,” said Vinnie, 
“and we never can get it for you, if you touch off 
your Fourth-of-July on it” 

“ 0, wal, you may dit it.” And he began to shovel 
the sand off, throwing it into his clothing, into the 
house, and some into Vinnie’s eyes. 

Lord Betterson, who was walking leisurely about 
his castle, now came forward, and, seeing Vinnie in 
some distress, inquired, in his lofty way, if he could 
do anything for her. 

“ If you please,” she replied, laughing, as she 
brushed the sand away from her eyes, “ I should like 
to have this trunk carried in.” 

Betterson drew himself up with dignified surprise ; 
for he had not meant to proffer any such menial ser- 
vice. Vinnie perceived the little mistake she had 
made ; but she was not so overpoweringly impressed 
by his nobility as to think that an apology was due. 
She even permitted herself to be amused ; and, retir- 
ing behind the sand in her eyes, which she made a 
great show of winking and laughing away, she waited 
to see what he would do. 


128 


THE YOUNG SURVEYOR. 


He looked around, and coughed uncomfortably. 

“ Where are the boys ? ” he asked. “ This — hem 
— is very awkward. I don’t know why the trunk 
was left here ; I directed that it should be taken to 
Cecie’s room.” 

Yinnie mischievously resolved that the noble Bet- 
terson back should bend beneath that burden. 

“ It is quite light,” she said. “ If you want help, 
I can lift one end of it.” 

The implication that it was not greatness of char- 
acter, but weakness of body, which kept him above 
such service, touched my lord. As she, at the same 
time, actually laid hold of one handle, he waived her 
off, with ostentatious gallantry. 

“ Permit me ! ” And, with a smile of condescen- 
sion, which seemed to say, “The Bettersons are not 
used to this sort of thing ; but they can always be 
polite to the ladies,” he took up the trunk by both 
handles, and went politely backward with it into the 
house, a performance at which Jack would have 
smiled. I say performance advisedly, for Betterson 
showed by his bearing, lofty and magnificent even 
under the burden, that this was not an ordinary act 
of an ordinary man. 

Having set down the trunk in its place, he brushed 
his fingers with a soiled handkerchief, and retired, 
exceedingly flushed and puffy in his tight stock. 

Yinnie thanked him with charming simplicity ; 
while Cecie, on her lounge, laughed slyly, and Mrs. 
Betterson looked amazed. 


VINNIE MAKES A BEGINNING, 


129 



“ Why not ? ” said Vinnie, with round eyes. 

“A gentleman like him ! and a Betterson ! ” replied 
Caroline, in a whisper of astonishment and awe. 

6* i 


“ Why, Lavinia ! how did you ever dare ? ” 

“ Dare what ? ” 

“ To ask Mr. Betterson to carry your trunk ? ” 


vinnie’s stratagem. 


130 


THE YOUNG SURVEYOR 


“ Who should have done it ? ” said Vinnie, trying 
hard to see the enormity of her offence. “ I could n’t 
very well do it alone ; I am sure you could n’t have 
helped me ; and my friend who brought me over, he 
has done so much for me already that I should have 
been ashamed to ask him. Besides, he is not here, 
and I wanted the trunk. Mr. Betterson seems very 
strong. Has he the rheumatism ? ” 

“ 0 Lavinia ! Lavinia ! ” — and Caroline wrapped 
her red shawl despairingly about her. “ But you 
will understand Mr. Betterson better by and by. 
You are quite excusable now. Arthur, dear! what 
do you want ? ” 

“ In her trunt, what she ’s doin’ to dive me, I want 
it,” said the boy, invading the house for that purpose. 

“ Yes, you shall have it,” cried Vinnie, skilfully 
giving his nose a wipe behind the mother’s back (it 
needed it sadly). “ But is your name Arthur ? I 
thought they called you Chokie.” 

“ Chokie is the nickname for Arthur,” Lill ex- 
plained. 

Vinnie did not understand how that could be. 

“ It* is the boys’ invention ; they are full of their 
nonsense,” said Caroline, with a sorrowful head- 
shake. “It was first Arthur, then Artie, then Arti- 
choke, then Chokie, — you see ? ” 

Vinnie laughed, while her sister went on, in com- 
plaining accents, — 

“ I tell them such things are beneath the dignity 
of our family ; but they will have their fun.” 


VINNIE MAKES A BEGINNING. 


131 


Vinnie took from her trunk a barking dog and a 
candy meeting-house, which made Chokie forget all 
about his threatened Fourth-of-July. She also had a 
pretty worsted scarf of many colors for Lill, and a 
copy of Mrs. Hemans’s Poems — popular in those 
days — for Cecie. 

“For you, sister Caroline,” she added, laughing, 
“ I have brought — myself.” 

“ This book is beautiful, and I love poetry so 
much ! ” said Cecie, with eyes full of love and grati- 
tude. “ But you have brought mother the best 
present.” 

“ 0, you don’t know about that ! ” replied Vinnie. 

“Yes, I do,” said Cecie, with a smile which 
seemed to tremble on the verge of tears. And she 
whispered, as Vinnie bent down and kissed her, “ I 
love you already ; we shall all love you so much ! ” 

“ Dear Cecie ! ” murmured Vinnie in the little in- 
valid’s ear, “ that pays me for coming. I am glad I 
am here, if only for your sake.” 

“ I dot the bestest pwesents,” cried Chokie, sitting 
on the floor with his treasures. “ Don’t tome here, 
Lill ; my dod will bite ! ” He made the little toy 
squeak violently. “ He barks at folks doin’ to meet- 
in’. Dim me some pins.” 

“ What do you want of pins ? ” Vinnie asked, tak- 
ing some from her dress. 

“ To make mans and womans doin’ to meetin’. 
One dood bid black pin for the minister,” said 
Chokie. 


132 


THE YOUNG SURVEYOR. 


Yinnie helped him stick up the pins in the floor, 
and even found the required big black one to head 
the procession. Then she pointed out the extraordi- 
nary fact of the dog being so much larger than the 
entire congregation ; at which even the sad Caroline 
smiled, over her sick babe. Chokie, however, gloried 
in the superior size and prowess of the formidable 
monster. 

Lill was delighted with her scarf, — all the more 
so when she learned that it had been wrought by 
Yinnie’s own hand. 

“ 0 Aunt Yinnie ! ” said Cecie ; “ will you teach 
me to do such work ? I should enjoy it so much — 
lying here ! ” 

“ With the greatest pleasure, my dear ! ” exclaimed 
Yinnie, her heart brimming with hope and joy at 
sight of the simple happiness her coming had 
brought. 

She then hastened to put on a household dress ; 
while Cecie looked at her book, and Lill sported her 
scarf, and Chokie earned himself a new nickname, 
— that of Big-Bellied Ben, — by making a feast of 
his meeting-house, beginning with the steeple. 


vinnie’s new rroom. 


133 


CHAPTER XVIII. 
vinnie’s new broom. 

Returning from his interview with Mr. Peakslow, 
Jack drove up on the roadside before the “castle,” 
asked Rufe to hold the horse a minute, and ran to 
the door to bid Vinnie good by. 

“ Here, Link ! ” Rufe called, " stand by this horse ! ” 

“ I can’t,” answered Link from the wood-pile, “ I ’ve 
got to get some wood, to make a fire, to heat some 
water, to dip the chickens, to loosen their feathers, 
and then to cook ’em for dinner.” 

“ Never mind the wood and the chickens and feath- 
ers ! Come along ! ” 

“I guess I will mind, and I guess I won't come 
along, for you, or anybody, for she asked me to.” 

“She? Who?” 

“ Aunt Vinnie ; and, I tell you, she ’s real slick.” 
And Link slashed away at the wood with an axe ; for 
that was the Betterson style, — to saw and split the 
sticks only as the immediate necessities of the house 
required. 

Rufe might have hitched the horse, but he was not 
a fellow to give himself any trouble that could well 
be avoided ; and just then he saw Wad coming out 
of the yard with two pails. 


134 


THE YOUNG SURVEYOR. 


Wad, being cordially invited to stay and bold the 
horse, also declined, except on condition that Rufe 
should himself go at once to the spring for water. 

“ Seems to me you ’re in a terrible pucker for wa- 
ter!” said Rufe. “Two pails ?_ what’s the row, 
Wad?” For it was the time-honored custom of the 
boys to put off going for water as long as human 
patience could endure without it, and never, except 
in great emergencies, to take two pails. 

“ She asked me to, and of course I ’d go for her ,” 
said Wad. “She has gone into that old kitchen, 
and, I tell you, she ’ll make things buzz ! ” 

Meanwhile Jack had gone straight to the said 
kitchen, — much to Mrs. Betterson’s dismay, — and 
found Vinnie in a neat brown dress, with apron on 
and sleeves pinned up. He thought he had never 
seen her look so bright and beautiful. 

“ At work so soon ! ” he exclaimed. 

“ The sooner the better,” she replied. “ Don’t look 
around you ; my sister is sick, you know.” 

“ I won’t hinder you a minute,” Jack said. “ I just 
ran in to tell you the good news about my horse, — 
though I suppose you ’ve heard that from the boys, 
— and to say good by, — and one word more ! ” low- 
ering his voice. “ If anything happens, — if it is n’t 
pleasant for you to be here, you know, — there is a 
home at Mrs. Lanman’s; it will be always waiting 
for you.” 

“ I thank you and Mrs. Lanman very much ! ” said 
Yinnie, with a trembling lip. “ But I mean to make 


vinnie’s new broom. 


135 


things pleasant here,” a smile breaking through the 
momentary trouble of her face. 

Jack declined an urgent invitation to stay and see 
what sort of a dinner she could get. 

“ By the way,” he whispered, as she followed him 
to the door, “ who carried in that trunk ? ” When 
she told him, he was hugely delighted. “You will 
get along! Here comes Bufe. Bufus, this is your 
Aunt Vinnie.” 

Bufus (who had finally got Chokie to hold the 
horse’s halter) blushed to the roots of his hair at 
meeting his relative, and finding her so very youth- 
ful (I think it has already been said that the aunt 
was younger than the nephew), and altogether so 
fresh and charming in her apron and pinned-up 
sleeves. 

She smilingly gave him her hand, which he took 
rather awkwardly, and said, — 

“ How d’ ’e do, Aunt Lavinia. I suppose I must 
call you aunt” 

“ Call me just Yinnie ; the idea of my being aunt 
to young men like you!” 

There was a little constraint on both sides, which 
Link relieved by pushing between them with a big 
armful of wood. 

“Well, good by,” said Jack. “She will need a 
little looking after, Bufus ; see that she does n’t work 
too hard.” 

“ You are not going to work hard for us ! ” said 
Bufus, with some feeling, after Jack was gone. 


136 


THE YOUNG SURVEYOR 


“That depends,” Yinnie replied. 11 You can make 
things easy for me, as I am sure you will.” 

“ Of course ; just let me know if they don’t go 
right. Call on Link or Wad for anything; make 
’em stand round.” 

Yinnie smiled at Eufe’s willingness to have his 
brothers brought into the line of discipline. 

“ They are both helping me now. But I find there 
are no potatoes in the house, and I ’ve been wonder- 
ing who would get them. Lill says they are to be 
dug in the field, and that she digs them sometimes ; 
but that seems too bad ! ” 

“ That ’s when Wad and Link — there ’s no need 
of her — I don’t believe in girls digging potatoes ! ” 
Eufe stammered. 

“0, but you know,” cried Lill, “sometimes we 
should n’t have any potatoes for dinner if I did n’t go 
and dig them ! I don’t care, only it ’s such hard 
work!” 

Yinnie looked admiringly at the bright, brave little 
girl. Eufe colored redder than ever, and said, — 

“ Don’t you , now, do such a thing ! Only let me 
know in season what ’s wanted ; I ’ll be after those 
boys with a sharp stick ! ” 

Yinnie could n’t help laughing. 

“ So, when we ’re going to want a handful of wood, 
a pail of water, or a basket of potatoes, I am to go 
for you, and you will go for the boys, and drive them 
up with your sharp stick ! I don’t think I shall like 
that. Would n’t it be better for you to see that there 


yinnie’ s new broom. 


137 


are always potatoes in the bin, and wood in the box, 
and other things on hand that you know will be 
needed ? ” 

It was perhaps quite as much her winning way as 
the good sense of this appeal which made it irre- 
sistible. 

“ Of course it would be better ! I ’ll get you a 
basket of potatoes now, and some green corn, and 
I ’ll look out for the water and wood.” 

“ 0, thank you ! ” said Yinnie. “ That will make 
things so much easier and pleasanter for all of 
us!” 

The potatoes and corn were got with a cheerful 
alacrity which quite astonished Eufe’s mother and 
sisters. 

The inertia of a large body being thus overcome, 
that well-known property of matter tended to keep 
Eufus still in motion ; and while Yinnie, with Lill’s 
help, was getting the dinner ready, he might have 
been seen approaching the wood-pile with an eye to 
business. 

“ See here, Wad ! This wood is pretty dry now ; 
don’t you think it had better be cut up and got in 
before there comes a rain ? ” 

“Yes, s’pose ’t would be a good idea.” 

“We ought to be ashamed,” Eufe went on, “to 
have her calling for a handful of wood every time 
it \s wanted, or going out to hack a little for herself, 
if we ’re not around ; for she ’ll do it.” 

“I s’pose so,” Wad assented. “Why don’t you go 


138 


THE YOUNG SURVEYOR. 


to work and cut it up ? I ’ll sit down on a log and 
whittle, and keep you company.” 

« Pshaw ! don’t talk that way. I ’ll go to work at 
it if you will. Come ! Will you saw, or split ? ” 

Wad laughed, and said he would split, — perhaps 
because the sawing must be done first. 

“ This saw is in a frightful condition ! ” Rufe said, 
stopping to breathe after sawing a few sticks. 

“ So is this axe ; look at the edge ! It ’s too dull 
even to split with,” said Wad. “ A small boy might 
ride to mill on it without suffering any very great 
inconvenience.” 

“ If father would only file and set this saw, I ’d 
help you grind the axe,” said Eufe. 

The paternal Betterson was just then returning 
from a little walk about his estate. As he ap- 
proached, hat in hand, wiping his noble forehead, 
under the shade of the oaks, Eufe addressed him. 

“We’ve got to have wood in the house; now 
she ’s come, it won’t do to get it by little driblets, 
and have her waiting for it and worrying about it. 
I ’ll saw it, if you ’ll only set the saw ; you know 
how, and I don’t ; we 11 do the hard work if you ’ll 
furnish a little of your skill.” 

Eufe knew how to appeal to the paternal vanity. 
The idea of furnishing, not labor, but skill, flattered 
my lord. 

“ Ah ! let me look at the saw. And bring me the 
file. And set out the shave-horse. 1 11 show you 
how the thing is done.” 


vinnie’s new broom. 


139 


When Link, who in the mean while had been 
dressing the prairie chickens behind the house, came 
round and saw his pompous papa sitting under an 
oak-tree, astride the “shave-horse,” filing away at 
the saw held in its clumsy jaws, and Wad turning 
the grindstone close by, while Eufe held on the axe, 
he ran into the house laughing. 

“ Mother ! just look out there ! Father and Eufe 
and Wad all at work at once ! Guess the world ’s 
coming to an end ! ” 

“I hope some of our troubles are coming to an 
end,” sighed poor Mrs. Betterson, who sat nursing 
her babe with a bottle. “It’s all owing to her. 
A new broom sweeps clean. She brings a very 
good influence; but I can’t hope it will last.” 

“0 mother!” said Cecie, from her lounge, “don’t 
say that. I am sure it will last ; she is so good ! 
You ’ll do all you can for her, won’t you, Link ? ” 

“ I bet ! ” was Link’s laconic response. “ If they 
only will, too, for there ain’t much fun in doing 
chores while father and Eufe and Wad are just 
loafing round.” 

He hastened to Vinnie with his chickens. 

“Just look out there once! All at it! Ain’t it 
fun?” 

It was fun to Yinnie, indeed. 


140 


THE YOUNG SURVEYOR. 


CHAPTER XIX. 
link’s wood-pile. 

The dinner, though late that day, was unusually 
sumptuous, and Betterson and his hoys brought to 
it keen appetites from their work. Vinnie’s cooking 
received merited praise, and the most cordial good- 
will prevailed. Even little Chokie, soiling face and 
fingers with a “ drum-stick ” he was gnawing, lisped 
out his commendation of the repast. 

“ I wish Aunt Yinnie would be here forever, and 
div us dood victuals.” 

“ I second the motion !-” cried Link, sucking a 
“ wish-bone,” and then setting it astride his nose, 
— “to dry,” as he said. 

“One would think we never had anything fit to 
eat before,” said Mrs. Betterson ; while my lord 
looked flushed and frowning over his frayed stock. 

“You know, mother,” said Bill, “I never could 
cook prairie chickens. And you have n’t been well 
enough to, since the boys began to shoot them.” 

“ Lincoln,” said Mrs. Betterson, “ remove that un- 
sightly object from your nose ! Have you forgotten 
your manners ? ” 

“ He never had any ! ” exclaimed Rufe, snatching 
the wish-bone from its perch. 


link’s wood-pile. 


141 


“ Here ! give that back ! I ’m going to keep it, 
and wish with Cecie bimeby, and we ’re both going 
to wish that Aunt Yinnie had come here a year ago 
— that is — I mean — pshaw ! ” said Link, whose 
ideas were getting rather mixed. 

Poor Mrs. Betterson complained a great deal to 
her sister that afternoon of the impossibility of 
keeping up the style and manners of the family 
in that new country. 

Yinnie — who sat holding the baby by Cecie’s 
lounge — asked why the family had chosen that 
new country. 

“Mr. Betterson had been unfortunate in business 
at the East, and it was thought best that he should 
try Illinois,” was Caroline’s way of stating that after 
her husband had run through two small fortunes 
which had fallen to him, and exhausted the patience 
of relatives upon whom he was constantly calling 
for help, a wealthy uncle had purchased this farm 
for him, and placed him on it to be rid of him. 

“ I should think you might sell the farm and move 
away,” said Yinnie. 

“There are certain obstacles,” replied Caroline; 
the said uncle, knowing that Lord could not keep 
property from flying away, having shrewdly tied 
this down by means of a mortgage. 

“One thing,” Caroline continued, “I have always 
regretted. A considerable sum of money fell to 
Mr. Betterson after we came here ; and he — wisely, 
we thought at the time, but unfortunately, as it 


142 


THE YOUNG SURVEYOR. 


proved — put it into this house. We expected to 
have a large part of it left ; but the cost of building 
was such that all was absorbed before the house was 
finished.” 

Such was Caroline’s account of the manner in 
which the “castle” came to be built. Yinnie was 
amazed at the foolish vanity and improvidence of 
the lord of it; but she only said, — 

“There seems to be a great deal of unused room 
in the house ; I should think you might let that, 
and a part of the farm, to another family.” 

Caroline smiled pityingly. 

“Lavinia dear, you don’t understand. We could 
never think of taking another family into our house, 
for the sake of money ! though it might be well to 
let the farm. Besides, there is really one more in 
the family than you see. I think I haven’t yet 
spoken to you of Radcliff, — my husband’s nephew.” 

“You mentioned such a person in your letter to 
me,” replied Yinnie. 

“ Ah, yes ; when I was giving some of the reasons 
why we had never had you come and live with us. 
Well off as we were at one time, — and are now in 
prospect, if not in actual appearance, — we could 
not very well take you as a child into our family, 
if we took Radcliff. He was early left an orphan, 
and it was thought best by the connections that he 
should be brought up by- my husband. I assure 
you, Lavinia, that nobody but a Betterson should ever 
have been allowed to take your place in our family.” 


link’s wood-pile. 


143 


Vinnie pictured to herself a youth of precious 
qualities and great promise, and asked, — 

“ Where is Eadcliff now ? ” 

“He is not with us just at present. He is of age, 
and his own master; and though we make a home 
for him, he ’s away a good deal.” 

“ What is his business ? ” 

“ He has no fixed pursuit. He is, in short, a gen- 
tleman at large.” 

“ What supports him ? ” 

“ He receives a limited allowance from our rela- 
tives on the Betterson side,” said Caroline, pleased 
with the interest her sister seemed to take in the 
illustrious youth. “He is not so stylish a man as 
my husband, by any means ; my husband is a Bet- 
terson of the Bettersons. But Eadcliff has the blood , 
and is very aristocratic in his tastes.” 

Caroline enlarged upon this delightful theme, until 
Cecie (who seemed to weary of it) exclaimed, — 

“ 0 mother, do see how Aunt Vinnie soothes the 
baby ! ” 

Indeed, it seemed as if the puny thing must have 
felt the flood of warmth and love from Vinnie’s heart 
bathing its little life. 

That afternoon Eufe and Wad sawed and split the 
wood, and Link (with Chokie’s powerful assistance) 
carried it into an unfinished room behind the kitchen, 
— sometimes called the “ back-room,” and sometimes 
the “ lumber-room,” — and corded it up against the 
wall. An imposing pile it was, of which the young 


144 


THE YOUNG SURVEYOR. 


architect was justly proud, no such sight ever having 
been seen in that house before. 



link’s wood-pile. 


Every ten or fifteen minutes he called Vinnie or 
Lill to see how the pile grew ; and at last he insisted 
on bringing Cecie, and letting her be astonished. 

Cecie was only too glad of any little diversion. 


link’s wood-pile. 


145 


She could walk with a good deal of assistance ; Yinnie 
almost lifted the poor girl in her loving arms ; Link 
supported her on the other side ; and so they bore 
her to the back-room, where she leaned affection- 
ately on Yinnie, while Link stood aside and pointed 
proudly at his wood-pile. 

“We never could get him to bring in a stick of 
wood before, without teasing or scolding him,” said 
Lill. 

“ This is different ; there *s some fun in this,” 
said Link. “ Eufe and Wad have been at work like 
sixty ; and we wanted to see how big a pile we could 
make.” 

All praised the performance ; and Mrs. Betterson 
so far forgot herself as to say she felt rich now, with 
so much nice, dry, split wood in the house. 

“ But what a remark,” she added immediately, 
turning to Yinnie, “ for one of our family to make ! ” 

“ I was never so proud of my brothers ! ” said 
Cecie. “ If I was only well enough, how I should like 
to help pile up that wood ! ” 

“Dear Cecie!” cried Yinnie, embracing her, “I 
wish you were, well enough ! And I hope you will 
be some time.” 

The wood was all disposed of that afternoon, and 
the boys concluded that they had had a pretty good 
time over it. 

“ Now we can loaf for a whole week, and make a 
business of it,” said Wad. 

“ There ’s one more job that ought to be done,” 
7 j 


146 


THE YOUNG SURVEYOR. 


said Rufe. “ That potato-patch. We can’t keep the 
pigs out of it, and it ’s time the potatoes were dug.” 

“ I s’pose so,” said Wad. “ Wish we had a hired 
man.” 

*‘It isn’t much of a job,” said Rufe. “ And we 
don’t want to be seen loafing round, now she ’s here.” 

“We can go up in the woods and loaf,” said Wad. 

“ Don’t talk silly,” said Rufe. “ Come, I ’ll go at 
the potatoes to-morrow, if you will. We ’ll dig, and 
make Link pick ’em up.” 

“ I was going to shoot some more prairie chickens 
to-morrow. We ’ve no other meat for dinner.” 

“We ’ll get father to shoot them. Come, Wad, 
what do you say ? ” 

Wad declined to commit himself to an enterprise 
requiring so large an outlay of bone and muscle. All 
Rufe could get from him was a promise to “ sleep on 
the potatoes ” and say what he thought of them in 
morning. 

The next morning accordingly, before the cattle 
were turned out of the yard, Rufe said, — 

“ Shall we yoke up the steers and take the wagon 
down into the potato-patch ? We can be as long as 
we please filling it.” 

“ Yes, we may as well take it down there and leave 
it,” Wad assented ; and the steers were yoked accord- 
ingly- 

Lord Betterson was not surprised to see the wagon 
go to the potato-patch, where he thought it might as 
well stay during the rest of the season, as anywhere 


link’s wood -pile. 


147 


else. But he was surprised afterward to see the three 
hoys — or perhaps we should say four, for Chokie 
was of the party — start off with their hoes and 
baskets. 

“We are going to let you shoot the prairie chickens 
this forenoon,” said Bufe. “ You ’ll find the gun and 
ammunition all ready, in the back-room. We are 
going at the potatoes.” 

Link went ahead and pulled the tops, and after- 
ward picked up the potatoes, filling the baskets, 
which his brothers helped him carry off and empty 
into the wagon-box ; while Chokie dug holes in the 
black loam to his heart’s content. 

“We might have had a noble crop here,” said Bufe, 
(t if it had n’t been for the weeds and pigs. Wad, we 
must n’t let the weeds get the start of us so another 
year. And we ’ll do some repairs on the fences this 
fall. I ’m ashamed of ’em ! ” 


148 


THE YOUNG SURVEYOR. 


CHAPTER XX. 

MORE WATER THAN THEY WANTED. 

A doctor from North Mills came once a week to 
visit Cecie and the sick mother and baby. One after- 
noon he brought in his chaise a saddle and bridle, 
which he said a young fellow would call for in a day 
or two. The boys laughed as they put the saddle 
away ; they knew who the young fellow was, and 
they hoped he would have a chance to use it. 

Snowfoot’s week was up the next forenoon ; and at 
about ten o’clock Jack, accompanied by Lion, and 
carrying a double-barrelled fowling-piece, with which 
he had shot a brace of prairie hens by the way, 
walked into the Betterson door-yard. 

He found the boys at the lower end of the house, 
with the steers and wagon. 

“ What ’s the news ? ” he asked. 

“ The news with us is, that we ’re out of rain- 
water,” Rufe replied. 

“ I should think so,” said Jack,’ looking into a dry 
hogshead which stood under the eaves-spout. 

“It ’s too much of a bother to bring all our water 
by the pailful. So we are going to fill these things 
at the river and make the steers haul ’em.” 

There were three wash-tubs and a barrel, which 


MORE WATER THAN THEY WANTED. 


149 


the boys were putting up on the bottom boards of the 
wagon-box, from which the sides had been removed. 

Jack was pleased with this appearance of enter- 
prise ; he also noticed with satisfaction that the yard 
had been cleared up since he last saw it. 

He asked about Vinnie, and learned from the looks 
and answers the boys gave him that she was popular. 

“ Your saddle came yesterday/’ said Wad ; “ so I 
s’pose you expect to ride home.” 

“ I feel rather inclined that way. How is our 
friend Peakslow ? ” 

“ Don’t know ; he went to Chicago, and he has n’t 
got back.” 

“ Has n’t got back ! ” said Jack, astonished. “ That ’s 
mean business ! ” 

He smothered his vexation, however, and told the 
boys that he would go with them to the river, after 
he had spoken with Vinnie. 

Entering the house, he was still more surprised at 
the changes which had taken place since his last visit. 

“ Her coming has been the greatest blessing ! ” said 
Caroline, detaining him in the sitting-room. “ We 
are all better, — the doctor noticed it yesterday ; 
Cecie and baby and I are all better. Lavinia dear 
will see you presently ; I think she is just taking- 
some bread out of the oven.” 

“ Let me go into the kitchen — she won’t mind 
me,” said Jack. 

Vinnie, rosy-red from her baking, met him at the 
door. He had been very anxious about her since he 


150 


THE YOUNG SURVEYOR. 


left her there ; but a glance showed him that all had 
gone well. 

“ You have survived ! ” he said. 

“ Yes, indeed ! ” she replied. “ I told you I would 
make things pleasant here.” 

“ The boys like you, I see.” 

“ And I like them. They do all they can for me. 
Rufus even helped me about the washing, — pounded 
and wrung out the clothes. You must stay to dinner 
to-day.” 

“ I think I may have to,” said Jack ; “ for my horse 
has n’t come back from Chicago yet, and I don’t mean 
to go home without him.” 

When lie went out he found the boys waiting, and 
accepted a seat with Wad and Link on a board 
placed across two of the tubs. Rufe walked by the 
cattle’s horns ; while in the third tub sat Chokie. 

“ You can’t sit in that tub going back, you know,” 
said Link. 

“ Yes, I can ! I will ! ” And Chokie clung fast to 
the handles. 

“ 0, well, you can if you want to, I suppose ! ” said 
Link ; “ but it will be full of water.” 

They passed the potato-patch (Jack smiled to see 
that the potatoes had been dug), crossed a strip of 
meadow-land below, and then rounded a bend in the 
river, in the direction of a deep place the boys knew. 

“ I always hate to ride after oxen, — they go so 
tormented slow ! ” said Link. “ Why don’t some- 
body invent a wagon to go by steam ? ” 


MORE WATER THAN THEY WANTED. 151 

“ Did you ever see a wagon go by water ? ” Jack 
asked. 

“ No, nor anybody else ! ” 

“ I have,” said J ack. “ I know a man in this 
county who has one.” 

“ What man ? I ’d go five miles to see one ! ” 

“ You can see one without going so far. The man 
is your father, and this is the wagon. It is going by 
water now.” 

“ By water — yes ! By the river ! ” said Link, 
amused and vexed. 

“Link,” said Jack, “do you remember that little 
joke of yours about the boys stopping the leak in 
the boat ? Well, we are even now.” 

Bufe backed the hind- wheels of the wagon into 
the river, o'ver the deep place, and asked Wad which 
he would do, — dip the water and pass it up by the 
pailful, or stay in the wagon and receive it. 

“ Whoever dips it up has to stand in the river 
above his knees,” said Wad; “and I don’t mean to 
get wet to-day.” 

“ Very well ; stay in the w T agon, then. You ’ll 
get as wet as I shall ; for I ’in going to pull off my 
shoes and roll up my trousers. Chokie, you keep in 
that tub, just where you are, till the tub is wanted. 
Link, you ’d better go into the river with me, and 
dip the pails, while I pass ’em up to Wad.” 

“ I never can keep my trousers-legs rolled up, and 
I ain’t going to get wet,” said Link. Then, whisper- 
ing to J ack : “ There ’s leeches in this river ; they 


152 


THE YOUNG SURVEYOR. 


get right into a fellow’s flesh and suck his blood like 
sixty.” 

Wad proposed to begin with the barrel, and to 
have Link stand at the end of the wagon, receive the 
pails, pass them to him, and pass them back to Eufe 
empty. 

“ Why not move the barrel to the end of the 
wagon, and fill it about two thirds full, and then 
move it back again ? I ’ll help you do that,” said 
Link. 

“ All right ; I ’ll fill the barrel and one of the tubs ; 
then you shall fill the other two tubs.” 

Link agreed to this ; while Jack smiled to hear so 
much talk about doing so small a thing. 

Eufe went in bare-legged, and stood on the edge 
of the deep hole, where the water was hardly up to 
his knees. Much as he disliked, ordinarily, to set 
about any work, he was strong and active when once 
roused ; and the pails of water went up on the wagon 
about as fast as Wad cared to take them. 

“ Hullo ! Don’t slop so ! You ’re wetting my 
feet ! ” cried Wad. 

“ I can’t keep from spilling a drop once in a while. 
You might have taken off your shoes and rolled up 
your trousers as I did.” 

The barrel was soon two thirds full, and Wad 
called upon Link to help him move it forward. Link 
left his seat by Jack’s side, and walked back to the 
rear of the wagon. Wad, as we know, was already 
there. So was the barrel of water, standing just 


MORE WATER THAN THEY WANTED. 


153 


back of the rear axletree. So also was a fresh pail 
of water, which Eufe had placed at the extreme end, 
because Wad was not ready to take it. 

At that moment the oxen, hungry for fresh grass, 
and having nipped all within reach of their noses, 
started up a little. Jack, thinking to prevent mis- 
chief by running to their heads, leaped from the front 
of the wagon. 

This abrupt removal of weight from one end, and 
large increase of avoirdupois at the other, produced a 
natural but very surprising result. Chokie in his 
tub, though at the long end of the beam, so to speak 
(the rear axletree being the fulcrum), was not heavy 
enough to counterbalance two brothers and a barrel 
of water at the short end. 

He suddenly felt himself rising in the air, and 
sliding with the empty tubs. His brothers at the 
same moment felt themselves sinking and pitching. 
There was a chorus of shrieks, as they made a des- 
perate effort to save themselves. Too late; the 
wagon-bottom reared, and away went barrel, boys, 
tubs, everything. 

The oxen, starting at the alarm, helped to precipi- 
tate the catastrophe. Fortunately, Jack was at hand 
to stop them, or the dismantled wagon might have 
gone flying across the lot, even fast enough to suit 
Link’s notion of speed. 

Eufe made one quick effort to prevent the boards 
from tipping up, then leaped aside, while the dis- 
charged load shot past him. 

7 * 


154 


THE YOUNG SURVEYOR. 


Chokie, screaming, held fast to the sides of his tub 
with both hands. Wad, intending to jump, plunged 
into the deepest part of the river. Link made a 
snatch at the barrel, and, playing at leap-frog over 
it (very unwillingly), went headlong into the deep 
hole. 

Chokie met with a wonderfully good fortune ; his 
tub was launched so neatly, and ballasted so nicely 
by him sitting in the bottom, that it shipped but a 
splash of water, and he floated away, unhurt and 
scarcely wet at all, amidst the general ruin. 

The wagon-boards, relieved of their load, tumbled 
back upon the wheels. To add to the confusion, 
Lion barked furiously. 

Jack, frightened at first, finally began to laugh, 
when he saw Chokie sailing away, under full scream, 
and Wad and Link scrambling out of the water. 

“ So you were the fellows that were not going to 
get wet ! ” cried Eufe. “ Pick out your barrel and 
empty tubs, while I catch Chokie ! ” 

The river, even in the deepest place, was not very 
deep ; and Wad and Link came wading out, blowing 
water from their mouths, flirting water from their 
hair, and shaking water from their rescued hats, in a 
way that made Eufe (after he had stranded Chokie 
in his tub) roll upon the grass in convulsions. * 

“ Laugh, then ! ” cried Wad in a rage ; “ I ’ll give 
you something to laugh at ! ” And, catching up a 
tub partly filled with water, he rushed with it to 
take wet vengeance on his dry brother. 


MORE WATER THAN THEY WANTED. 155 

Before Bufe, helpless with laughter, could move to 
defend himself, tub, water, and Wad, all together, 
were upon him, — the tub capsizing over his head 
and shoulders, Wad tumbling upon the tub, and the 
water running out in little rivulets below. 

Bufe was pretty wet, but still laughing, when he 
crawled out, like a snail from under his shell, and 
got upon his feet, clutching the tub to hurl it at 
Wad, who fled. 

“ You are the only one who has got any dry fun 
out of this scrape ! ” Bufe said, trying to brush the 
water out of his neck and breast. 

His words were addressed to Jack, and they 
proved more strictly true than he intended ; for just 
then Chokie, trying to get out of his stranded tub, 
tipped it over, and went out of it, upon his hands 
and knees, into the river. By the time he was 
pulled out and set upon dry ground, the boys were 
all pretty good-natured. 

“ How about those leeches, Link ? Did you find 
any ? ” said J ack. 

“ I ’m too dizzy yet, to think about leeches,” re- 
plied Link. “ I turned a somerset out of that wagon 
so quick, I could see the patch on the seat of my 
trousers ! ” 

“I thought I was going through to China,” said 
Wad, “and expected, when I came up, to see men 
with pigtails.” 

He stood on the edge of the water, holding another 
tub for Bufe, if he should come too near. 


156 


THE YOUNG SURVEYOR. 


“ Quit your nonsense now ! ” cried Rufe, “ and 
hand up that barrel.” 

“ I ’ll quit if you will, — as the poultry- thief said 
when the old gobbler chased him. ‘Quit, quit!’ 
says the turkey. ‘ Quit your ownself ! ’ says the 
thief. And I’m just of his way of thinking,” said 
Wad. 

“ Well ! help me put this wagon into shape,” said 
Rufe. “ Then we ’ll fill our tubs and barrel without 
any more fooling.” 

The wagon-boards were replaced and loaded with- 
out any further accident. The well-filled tubs were 
set one upon another, and Wad stood holding them ; 
while Link, having placed the board seat over the 
barrel of water, sat upon it. They found it a pretty 
sloppy ride ; but they could laugh defiance at a little 
water now. Chokie, it need hardly be said, did not 
ride in a tub of water, but walked between Jack and 
Rufe beside the oxen. 


PEAKSLOW SHOWS HIS HAND. 


157 


CHAPTER XXI. 

PEAKSLOW SHOWS HIS HAND. 

“Hullo!” cried Link from his perch, as the 
wagon passed the potato-patch, “there comes Peak- 
slow down the road through the woods, — just turn- 
ing the corner for home ! ” 

Jack started with sudden excitement. 

“ Can you see his team ? ” 

“ Yes ; one of the horses looks like yours ; and he 
has an extra horse led behind.” 

Jack ran up to the road to get a look, and came 
laughing hack to the house, where the boys and their 
load of water had by that time arrived. 

“ He is driving my horse, and leading one of his 
own. I am going to get my bridle, and call on him.” 

“ You ’ll come back to dinner ? ” said Rufe. 

“ Yes, if you ’ll have my prairie chickens cooked.” 

And, leaving the boys to astonish the family with 
their wet clothes, Jack, with the bridle on his arm, 
walked down the road. 

Just as he was entering Peakslow’s yard, he met 
Mr. Wiggett coming out with his arms full of brown- 
paper parcels. 

“ Mr. Wiggett ! glad to see you ! ” 

“Same to yourself,” replied the old man. “Got 


158 


THE YOUNG SURVEYOR. 


my arms full o’ this yer stuff, or I ’d shake hands. 
I ’ve a lot more o’ comforts for wife and young uns 
in the wagon ; but I thought I ’d lug along suthin, 
or they would n’t be glad to see me.” 

“ Is it all right about the horse .? ” 

“ I ’low it *s all right.” 

“ Is Peakslow up to any trick ? ” 

“Nary, as I kin diskiver; and I pumped him, tew, 
right smart, a-comin’ over the perairie.” 

“Did he have much trouble getting hack his 
horse ? ” 

“ Not sich a dog-goned sight Truckman ’s a 
straightfor’ard, honest chap. Says he guv eighty 
dollars for your hoss ; thinks he had him of the thief 
himself ; and ’lows he knows the rascal. He stuck 
out a little at fust, and you should ’a’ heard Peak- 
slow talk tew him ! ’T was ekal to gwine to 
preachin’.” 

“ What did he say ? ” 

“Said none hut a fool or a scoundrel would 
ca’c’late he could hang ontew a piece o’ prop’ty that 
had been stole, or traded for what had been stole. 
Talked, of course, just t’ other way from what he did 
when he talked to you. Truckman did n’t mind his 
gab, but when he was satisfied the hoss he put away 
had been stole, he guv up Peakslow’s, and the fifteen 
dollars to boot. Now, how in the name of seven 
kingdoms Peakslow ’s gwine to turn it about to make 
anything more, beats all my understandin’ ! ” 

Jack thanked the old man warmly for the interest 


PEAKSLOW SHOWS HIS HAND. 


159 


he had taken in the affair, and asked how he could 
pay him for his trouble. 

“ I have n’t looked for no pay,” replied the old 
man. “ But one thing I should like to have ye dew 
for me, if ever ye come my way agin with yer com- 
pass. My woman guv me right smart of her jaw for 
forgittin’ it when ye was thar before. She wants a 
noon-mark on our kitchen floor.” 

“All right,” said Jack. “She shall have it.” 

The old man went on with his bundles, while Jack 
entered Peakslow’s yard. 

Peakslow, who was unharnessing his team, with 
the help of two stout boys, looked up and said, in a 
tone which he meant should be friendly, — 

“ How are ye ? On hand, I see,” with a grim 
smile at the bridle. 

“ I was on hand a little before you were,” replied 
Jack. “ Your week was up an hour ago. Though I 
don’t care about that. You ’ve got your horse, I see.” 

“ That ’s the main thing I went for ; course I ’ve 
got him. Here ’s a paper, with the truckman’s name 
wrote on ’t ; he wants you to come and see him when 
you go to town, pervided he don’t come to see you 
fust.” 

“ Did he say anything about a bridle and a blanket 
that were on the horse when he was stolen ? ” 

“ He ’s got ’em,” Peakslow coolly replied ; " but as 
no reward was offered for anything but the hoss, I 
did n’t take ’em.” 

Jack did n’t quite see the logic of this remark. 


160 


THE YOUNG SURVEYOR. 


“ Never mind ; they are trifles,” he said. “ It ’s 
glory enough for one while, to get my horse again. 
I ’ve a bridle here for him ; I ’ll slip it on, Zeph, if 
you’ll slip yours off.” 

“You can slip your bridle on that hoss, and take 
him away, when you ’ve fulfilled the conditions ; not 
before,” said Peakslow. 

“ What conditions ? You don’t pretend to claim 
my horse now you ’ve got your own back ? ” 

“ I ’ve got a claim on him,” Peakslow replied. 
“ Here ’s your own handbill for it. Twenty Dollars 
Reward ! I ’ve got back your hoss for ye, and I 
demand the reward.” 

This, then, after all, was the quirk in Peakslow’s 
head. The boys grinned. Jack was astounded. 

“ Peakslow,” he exclaimed indignantly, “ you know 
that ’s an absurd claim ! You did n’t find my horse 
and deliver him to me ; I found him in your hands, 
and you even refused to give him up ! The truck- 
man has a better claim for the reward than you have, 
for he had him first; and then I don’t see but the 
thief himself has a prior claim to either.” 

“You talk like a fool!” said Peakslow. 

“You act like a fool and a knave J” Jack retorted, 
in a sudden blaze. “ I won’t have any more words 
with you. Sue for the reward, if you think you can 
get it. I’m just going to take my horse!” 

“Not till the reward is paid, if I live!” said 
Peakslow, his black eyes sparkling. “ Zeph, step and 
hand out the old gun ! ” 


THE WOODLAND SPRING. 


161 


CHAPTER XXII 

THE WOODLAND SPRING. 

Very pale, with the bridle dangling from his arm, 
and Lion walking dejectedly by his side (the sym- 
pathetic dog always knew when his master was in 
trouble), Jack returned to the “castle.” 

Lord Betterson, meeting him in the door-yard, 
touched his hat and bowed. 

“ Where — is — your — quadruped ? ” he asked, 
with a cool, deliberate politeness, which fell upon 
Jack’s mood like drops of water on red-hot steel. 

“ That villain ! he claims the reward for him ! 
But I never ’ll pay it in the world I ” 

Betterson smiled and said, “ Ah ! Peakslow ! 
Highly characteristic ! ” 

“He threatened to shoot me!” 

“Very likely. He has threatened to shoot me, 
on one or two occasions. I said, ‘ Shoot!’” (Jack 
wondered whether he said it with that condescend- 
ing smile and gracious gesture.) “It is n’t agree- 
able to have dealings with a person who talks of 
shooting his fellow-men ; but I imagine there ’s no 
danger, if you keep cool.” 

“ I could n’t keep cool,” said Jack. “ I got as mad 
as he was. I could have shot him ” 


162 


THE YOUNG SURVEYOR. 


“That, my friend,” Lord Betterson replied, with 
a wave of the hand, “ was an error, — quite natural, 
but still an error. You stay to dinner ? ” 

“Thank you, I have promised myself that pleas- 
ure.” 

Jack was ashamed of having given way to his 
anger; and he determined from that moment, what- 
ever happened, to keep calm. 

As he threw his useless bridle down, and left Lion 
to guard it, he saw Wad starting off with a pail, and 
asked where he was going. 

“For water,” said Wad. 

“ More water ? I should think you all had enough 
for one day ! ” 

“ Yes, for the outer man,” drawled Wad. “ Where ’s 
your horse ? ” 

“I concluded to let Peakslow keep him a little 
longer. He seemed willing to ; and I am not ready 
to ride home. May I go with you ? ” 

“ Glad to have ye,” said Wad. 

They walked a little way along the road toward 
Peakslow’s house, then entered the woodland, de- 
scended into a little ravine, and, on the slope beyond, 
found a spring of running water in the shade of an 
oak grove. 

Jack was not inclined to talk of Snowfoot, but he 
had a good deal to say about the spring. 

“Why, this is charming! What a clear basin of 
water ! Is it always running over ? ” 

“Always, even in the driest season. We first 


THE WOODLAND SPRING. 


163 


noticed that little stream trickling down into the 
ravine; and that’s about all there was to be seen, 
till Eufe and I hollowed out this basin.” 

“ Why don’t you come here with your wagon and 
tubs, instead of going to the river ? ” 

“There’s no good way to get in here with a 
wagon; and, besides, we can’t dip up more than 
two or three pailfuls at a time, — then we must 
wait for the spring to fill.” 

“You could sink a barrel,” said Jack, “and always 
have that full, to start upon. Now dip your pail, 
and let ’s see how long it takes for the basin to 
fill.” 

The experiment was tried, and Jack grew quite 
enthusiastic over the result. 

“ See ! how fast the water comes in ! I say, Wad, 
you ’ve got something valuable here.” 

“Yes,” said Wad. “I only wish the house had 
been built somewhere near. This is part of the land 
Peakslow pretended to claim. The swing, where 
Cecie got hurt, is in the grove, just up here.” 

The place was so cool and pleasant that Jack let 
Wad return alone with the water, and walked about 
the spring and the swing, and up into the woods 
beyond, calming his inward excitement, until din- 
ner-time. 

At table he gave a humorous account of his late 
interview with Peakslow. 

“He was so very cordial in his request that I 
should leave Snowfoot, that I could n’t well refuse, 


164 


TIIE YOUNG SURVEYOR. 


— though I did decline to trouble him, till he 
brought out a double-barrelled argument, — stub 
twist, percussion lock, — which finally persuaded 
me. He is one of the most urgent men I ever 
saw,” added Jack, mashing his potato. 

Yinnie smiled, while the others laughed; but 
her eyes were full of anxiety, as they beamed on 
Jack. 

“ Is n’t it possible,” she said, “ to meet such argu- 
ments with kindness ? I did n’t think there was a 
man so bad that he could n’t be influenced by reason 
and good-will.” 

“ It might rain reasons on Peakslow, forty days 
and forty nights, — he would shed ’em, as a duck 
does water,” Jack replied. “ Is n’t it so, Mr. Bet- 
terson ? ” 

“ I have certainly found him impervious,” said my 
lord. 

“I might have stopped to argue with him, and 
threaten him with the law and costs of court, and 
perhaps have settled the matter for five or ten 
dollars. But the truth is,” Jack confessed, “I lost 
patience and temper. I am not going to have any 
more words with him. Now let’s drop Peakslow, 
and speak of something more important. That 
spring over in your woods, Mr. Betterson, — I ’ve 
been looking at it. Is it soft water ? ” (Jack lifted 
a glass and sipped it ;) “ as good for washing as it 
is for the table ? ” 

“ It is excellent water for any purpose,” said Mr. 


THE WOODLAND SPRING. 


165 


Betterson. “ There is only one fault in that spring, 
— it is too far off.” 

“We are going to move the house up there, so as 
to have it handy/’ said Link. 

“ That is one of my young friend’s jokes,” said 
Jack. “But, seriously, Mr. Betterson, instead of 
moving the house to the spring, why don’t you 
bring the spring to the house ? ” 

“ How do you mean ? It does n’t seem quite — 
ah — practicable, to move a spring that w T ay.” 

“ I don’t mean the spring itself, of course, but the 
water. You might have that running, a constant 
stream, in your kitchen or back-room.” 

“ I apprehend your drift,” said Betterson, helping 
Jack to a piece of prairie chicken. “You mean, 
bring it in pipes.” 

“ Thank you. Precisely.” 

“But I apprehend a difficulty ; it is not easy to 
make water run up hill.” 

Jack smiled, and blushed a little, at Betterson’s 
polite condescension in making this mild objection. 

“Water running down hill may force itself up 
another hill, if confined in pipes, I think you will 
concede.” 

“ Most assuredly. But it will not rise again higher 
than its source. And the spring is lower than we 
are, — lower than our kitchen sink.” 

“I don’t quite see that,” replied Jack, with the 
air of a candid inquirer. “I have been over the 
ground, and it did n’t strike me so.” 


166 


THE YOUNG SURVEYOR. 


“ It certainly looks to be several feet lower/’ said 
Betterson ; and the boys agreed with him. 

“ We generally speak of going down to the spring,” 
said Bufe. “We go down the road, then down the 
bank of the ravine, and then a little way up the 
other bank. I don’t know how we can tell just 
how much lower it is. We can’t see the spring 
from the house.” 

“ If I had my instruments here, I could tell you 
which is lower, and how much lower, pretty soon. 
While I am waiting for Snowfoot, (I can’t go home, 
you know, without Snowfoot!) I may, perhaps, do 
a bit of engineering, as it is.” 


jack’s “bit of engineering: 


1G7 


CHAPTER XXIII. 
jack’s “bit of engineering.” 

The boys got around Jack after dinner, and asked 
him about that bit of engineering. 

“In the first place,” said Jack, standing outside 
the door, and looking over toward the spring, hidden 
by intervening bushes on a ridge, “ we must have a 
water-level, and I think I can make one. Get me a 
piece of shingle, or any thin strip of wood. And I 
shall want a pail of water.” 

A shingle brought, Jack cut it so that it would 
float freely in the pail ; and, having taken two thin 
strips of equal length from the sides, he set them up 
near each end, like the masts of a boy’s boat. 

“ Xow, this is our level,” he said ; “ and these 
masts are the sights. To see that they are exact, 
we will look across them at some object, then turn 
the level end for end, and look across them again ; 
if the range is the same both ways, then our sights 
are right, are they not ? But I see we must lay a 
couple of sticks across the pail, to hold our level still 
while we are using it.” 

The boys were much interested ; and Link said he 
did n’t see what anybody wanted of a better level 
than that. 


168 


THE YOUNG SURVEYOR. 


“ It will do for the use we are going to make of 
it,” said Jack ; “ but it might not be quite con- 
venient for field service ; you could n’t carry a pail 



TESTING THE LEVEL. 


of water, and a floating shingle with two masts, in 
your overcoat-pocket, you know. We’ll aim at a 
leg of that grindstone. Go and stick your knife 
where I tell you, Link ” ^ 


jack’s “bit of engineering.’ 


169 


Jack soon got his level so that it would stand the 
test, and called the boys to look. 

“ Here ! you stand back, Chokie ! ” cried Link ; 
while Rufe and Wad, one after the other, got down 
on the ground and sighted across the level at the 
knife-blade. 

“ How,” Jack explained, “ I am going to set this 
pail of water in your kitchen window, by the sink. 
That will be our starting-point. Then I want one 
of you boys to go, with a long-handled pitchfork, 
in the direction of the spring, as far as you can and’ 
keep the pail in sight ; then set up your fork, and 
pin a piece of white paper on it just where I tell 
you. As I raise my hand, you will slide the paper 
up ; and, as I lower my hand, you will slip it down.” 

Wad and Link both went with the fork, which 
they set up on the borders of the woodland, back 
from the road. Then Wad, wrapping a piece of 
newspaper about the handle, held it there as high as 
his head, with a good strip of it visible above his 
hand. 

Jack, standing in the kitchen, looked across the 
sights of his level placed in the open window, and 
laughed. 

“ What do you think, Rufe ? Is the paper high 
enough ? ” 

“ It ought to be a foot or two higher,” was Rufe’s 
judgment. 

“/ say a foot higher,” remarked Lord Betterson, 
coming up behind. 

8 


170 


THE YOUNG SURVEYOR. 


“ What do you say, Yinnie ? ” 

“ I think the paper is too high.” 

“ Now look across the level,” said Jack. 

All were astonished; and Lord Betterson could 
hardly he convinced that the level was constructed 
on sound principles. It showed that the top of the 
paper should be just below Wad’s knee. 

“Now we will take our level,” said Jack, after the 
paper was pinned in its proper place, “ and go for- 
ward and make another observation.” 

He chose a place at the top of the ridge beyond 
Wad, where, after cutting a few bushes, he was able 
to look back and see the fork-handle, and also to look 
forward and see the spring. There he set his pail on 
the ground, waited for the water to become still, 
adjusted his level, and caused a second strip of 
paper to be pinned to the fork-handle, in range with 
the sights. 

The boys then gathered around the fork, while 
Jack, taking a pocket-rule from his coat, ascertained 
that the second paper was six feet and an inch above 
the first. 

“ Which shows that our level is now six feet and 
an inch higher than it stood on the kitchen window,” 
said he. “ Now let ’s see how much higher it is than 
the spring.” 

Link was already on his hands and knees by the 
pail, turning the sights in range with the spring on 
the farther side of the little ravine. He suddenly 
flapped his arms and crowed. 


jack’s “bit of engineeking; 


171 


“No need of setting the fork over there/’ he said. 
“ The spring is almost as high as the pail ! ” 

“ Let ’s be exact,” said Jack ; and he went himself 
and thrust the fork, handle downward, into the basin 
of the spring. “Now, Link, you be the engineer; 
show your skill ; tell me where to fix this paper.” 

Link was delighted with the important part as- 
signed him. 

“ Higher ! ” he commanded, from behind the pail. 
“Not quite so high. Not quite so low. Now just a 
millionth part of an inch higher — there ! ” 

“ A millionth part of an inch is drawing it rather 
fine,” said J ack, as he pinned the paper. 

Afterward, going and looking across the level, he 
decided that Link had taken a very accurate aim. 
Then, his pocket-measure being once more applied, 
the paper was found to be only seven inches higher 
than the water in the basin. 

“ Seven inches from six feet one inch, leaves five 
feet six inches as the height of the spring water 
above the level of our sights at the kitchen window. 
Now, I measured, and found they were there thirteen 
inches higher than the bottom of the sink ; which 
shows that if you carry this water in pipes, you can 
have your spout, or faucet, thirteen inches higher 
than the bottom of your sink, and still have a head 
of water of five feet and six inches, to give you a 
running stream.” 

The boys were much astonished, and asked how it 
happened that they had been so deceived. 


172 


THE YOUNG SURVEYOR. 


“You have unconsciously based all your calcula- 
tions on the fact that you go down to Peakslow’s. 
The road falls a little all the way. But it does n’t 
fall much between your house and the place where 
you turn into the woodland. There you take a path 
among the bushes, which really rises all the way, 
though quite gradually, until you pass the ridge and 
go down into the ravine. Yinnie has n’t been accus- 
tomed to talk of going down to the spring, as you 
have ; and so, jmu see, she was the only one who 
thought Wad- at first placed his paper too high. 
Perhaps this does n’t account for your mistake ; but 
it is the best reason I can give.” 

“ How about the pipes ? ” Eufe asked. 

“ You can use pump-logs for pipes.” 

“ But we have no pump-logs ! ” 

“You have enough to reach from here to North 
Mills and return. They are growing all about you.” 

“ Trees ! ” said Wad. “ They are not pump-logs.” 

“ Pump-logs in the rough,” replied Jack. “ They 
only need cutting, boring, and jointing. All pump- 
logs were once trees. These small-sized oaks are 
just the thing for the purpose ; you have acres of 
them, and in places the timber needs thinning out. 
You can use the straight stems for your aqueduct, 
and the limbs and branches for firewood.” 

“ That ’s an idea ! ” said Rufe, rubbing his forehead 
and walking quickly about. “ But how are we going 
to turn our tree-trunks into pump-logs ? We have 
no tools for boring and jointing.” 


JACK’S “ BIT OF ENGINEERING.” 173 

“ No, and it would cost a good deal to get them. 
You want an iron rod, or auger-sliaft, long enough 
to bore half-way through your longest log; then a 
bit, — an inch bore would be large enough, but I 
suppose it would be just as easy, perhaps easier, to 
make a two-inch bore, — the auger would be more 
apt to get clogged and cramped in a smaller hole ; 
then a reamer and a circular joint-plane, to make 
your joints, — the taper end of one log is to be fitted 
into the bore of the next, you know. You will also 
need some apparatus for holding your log and direct- 
ing the rod, so that you sha’ n’t bore out, but make 
your holes meet in the middle, when you bore from 
both ends ; and I don’t know what else. I ’ve 
watched men boring logs, but I don’t remember all 
the particulars about it.” 

“You seem to remember a good deal,” said Wad. 
“And I like the idea of a stream from this spring 
running in our back-room, — think of it, Kufe ! But 
it can't be did , — as the elephant said when he tried 
to climb a tree. No tools, no money to buy or hire 
’em, or to hire the work done.” 

“ You boys can do a good deal of the work your- 
selves,” said Jack. “ You can cut the logs, and get 
them all ready for boring. Then you can get the 
pump-maker at the Mills to come over with his 
tools and help you bore them by hand; or you 
can haul your logs to him, and have them bored 
by machinery, — he has a tread-mill, and a horse 
to turn it. In either case, I ’ve no doubt you 


174 


TIIE YOUNG SURVEYOR. 


could pay for his labor by furnishing logs for his 
pumps.” 

“ I believe we can ! ” said Rufe, by this time quite 
warmed up to the subject. “ But how about laying 
the logs ? They have to be put pretty deep into the 
ground, don’t they ? ” 

“Deep enough so that the water in them won’t 
freeze. A trench four feet deep will answer.”. 

“ How wide ? ” 

“ Just wide enough for a man to get into it and 
lay the logs and drive the joints together. And, by 
the way, you ’d better be sure that there are no leaks, 
and that the water comes through all right, before 
you cover your logs.” 

“ But there ’s work in digging such a trench as 
that ! ” said Wad, shaking his head. 

“ So there is work in everything useful that is ever 
accomplished. Often the more work, the greater the 
satisfaction in the end. But you boys have got it in 
you, — I see that; and, let me tell you,” said Jack, 
“ if I were you, I would take hold of things on this 
place in downright earnest, and make a farm and a 
home to be proud of.” 

“ I never could get in love with work,” replied 
Wad. “ I ’m constitutionally tired, as the lazy man 
said. The thought of that trench makes my back 
ache.” 

“ It won’t be such a back-aching job as you sup- 
pose. You ’ve only to take one stroke with a pick 
or shovel at a time. And as for that constitutional 


jack’s “bit of engineering.” 175 

weariness you complain of, now is the time in your 
lives to get rid of it, — to work it out of your blood, 
— and lay the foundations of your manhood.” 

“I must say, you preach pretty well!” observed 
Wad. 

“I’m not much of a preacher,” replied Jack ; “but 
I can’t help feeling a good deal, and saying just a 
word, when I see young fellows like you neglecting 
your opportunities.” 

“ If father and Rad would take hold with us, we 
would just straighten things,” said Rufe. 

“ Don’t wait for your father to set you an exam- 
ple,” replied Jack. “ I don’t know about Rad, though 
I ’ve heard you speak of him.” 

“ Our cousin, Radcliff,” said Rufe. “ He ’s a smart 
fellow, in his way, but he don’t like work any better 
than we do, and he ’s off playing the gentleman most 
of the time.” 

“ Or playing the loafer,” said Wad. 

“ Let him stay away,” said Jack. “You ’ll do bet- 
ter without any gentlemen loafers around.” 

“ Did you ever do much hard work ? ” Wad asked. 

“ What do you think ? ” replied Jack, with a 
smile. 

“ I think you ’ve seen something of the world.” 

“ Yes, and I ’ve had my way to make in it. I was 
brought up on the Erie Canal, — a driver, ignorant, 
ragged, saucy ; you would n’t believe me if I should 
tell you what a little wretch I was. All the educa- 
tion I have, I have gained by hard study, mostly at 


176 


THE YOUNG SURVEYOR. 


odd spells, in the last three years. I had got a 
chance to work on a farm, and go to school in win- 
ter ; then I took to surveying, and came out here to 
he with Mr. Felton. So, you see, I must have done 
something besides loafing ; and if I talk work to you 
I have earned the right to.” 

“ I say, boys ! ” cried Link, “ le’s put this thing 
through, and have the water running in the house.” 

“It will do for you to talk,” said Wad; “mighty 
little of the work you ’ll do.” 

“ You ’ll see, Wad Betterson J Hain’t I worked 
the past week as hard as either of you ? ” 

“ This thing is n’t to be pitched into in a hurry,” 
said Bufe, more excited than he wished to appear. 
“We shall have to look it all over, and talk with the 
pump-maker, and do up some of the farm-work that 
is behindhand.” 

“ Why don’t you take the farm of your father,” 
said Jack, “ and see what you can make out of it ? 
1 never knew what it was to be really interested in 
work till I took some land with another boy, and we 
raised a crop on our own account.” 

Bufe brightened at the idea; but Wad said he 
was n’t going to be a farmer, anyway. 

“ What are you going to be ? ” 

“ I have n’t made up my mind yet.” 

“ Till you do make up your mind, my advice is for 
you to take hold of what first comes to your hand, do 
that well, and prepare yourself for something more to 
your liking.” 


jack’s “bit of engineering.” 177 

“ I believe that ’s good advice,” said Eufe. “ But 
it is going to be hard for us to get out of the old 
ruts” 

“ I know it ; and so much the more credit you will 
have when you succeed.” 

Jack moved away. 

“ Where are you going now ? ” Eufe asked. 

“ To reconnoitre a little, and see what Peakslow 
has done with my horse. I ride that horse home, 
you understand I ” 


8 * 


L 


178 


THE YOUNG SURVEYOR. 


CHAPTER XXIY. 

PREPARING FOR THE ATTACK. 

The boys showed Jack a way through the timber 
to a wooded hill opposite Peakslow’s house. There 
Link climbed a tree to take an observation. 



OLD WIGGETT. 


“I can look right over into his barn-yard,” he 
reported to his companions below. “ There *s old 
Wiggett with his ox-cart, unloading something out 


PREPARING FOR THE ATTACK. 


179 


of Peakslow’s wagon ; and there ’s Peakslow with 
him. Hark!” After a pause, Link laughed and 
said : “ Peakslow ’s talking loud ; I could hear him 
say, ‘ That air hoss,’ and ‘ Not if I live ! ’ Now old 
Wiggett ’s hawing his oxen around out of the yard.” 

“ I must head him off and have a word with him,” 
said Jack. And away he dashed through the under- 
growth. 

Peaching a clump of hazels by the roadside, he 
waited till the old man and his slow ox-team came 
along. 

“What’s the news, Mr. Wiggett?” Jack said, 
coming out and accosting him. 

“ Whoa ! hush ! back ! ” the old man commanded, 
beating his cattle across the face with a short ox- 
goad. He shook with laughter as he turned to Jack. 
“ It ’s dog-gone-ation funny ! He had a quirk in his 
head, arter all. Hankers arter that reward of twenty 
dollars ! ” 

“ What did you say to him ? ” 

“ Told him he had no shadder of a claim, — he 
might sue ye through all the courts in seven king- 
doms, he could n’t find a jury to give him the reward 
for stolen prop’ty found in his hands. . He said for 
that reason he meant to hold ontew the hoss till 
you ’d agree to sutliin.” 

“ Where is the horse now ? ” 

“ In Peakslow’s stable. He wants to turn him 
out to pastur’, but he ’s afraid you ’re hangin’ round. 
He has set his boys to diggin’ taters over ag’in Bet- 


180 


THE YOUNG SURVEYOR. 


terson’s lot, where they can watch for ye. What he 
re’ly wants is, for you to come back and make him 
an offer, to settle the hash ; for he ’s a little skittish 
of your clappin’ the law ontew him.” 

“ I wonder he did n’t think of that before.” 

“ He did, but he says you ’d showed yerself a kind 
of easy, accomodatin’ chap, and he ’d no notion o’ 
your gettin’ so blamed riled all of a suddint.” 

“That shows how much good it does to be easy 
with a man like him!” And Jack, thanking old 
Wiggett for his information, disappeared in the woods. 

He found the boys waiting for him, and told them 
what he had learned. “ How my cue is,” said he, 
“to make Peakslow think I ’ve gone home. So I 
may as well leave you for the present. Please take 
care of my saddle and bridle and gun till I call for 
them. Good by. If you should happen to come 
across the Peakslow boys — you understand ! ” 

Eufe carelessly returned Jack’s good-by. Then, 
leaving Wad and Link to go by the way of the spring 
and take care of the pail and fork, he walked down 
through the woods to the road, where he found Zeph 
and his older brother Dud digging potatoes in Peaks- 
low’s corner patch. 

“ Hullo ! ” Dud called out, so civilly that Eufe 
knew that something was wanted of him. 

“Hullo yourself and see how you like it,” Eufe 
retorted. 

“ Where ’s that fellow that owns the hoss ? ” 

“ How should I know ? ” 


PREPARING FOR THE ATTACK. 


181 


“ He stopped to your house.” 

“ That ’s so. But he ’s gone now.” 

“ Where ? ” 

“ I don’t know. He told us to keep his saddle and 
bridle and gun till he called for ’em, and went off. 
You ’ll hear from him before many days.” 

Rufe’s tone was defiant ; and the young potato- 
diggers, having, as they supposed, got the information 
they wanted, suffered their insolence to crop out. 

“ We ain’t afraid of him nor you either,” said Zeph, 
leaning on his hoe. 

“ Yes, you are afraid of me, too, you young black- 
guard ! I ’ll tie you into a bow-knot and hang you 
on a tree, if I get hold of you.” 

“ Le’s see ye do it ! ” 

Rufe answered haughtily: “You wouldn’t stand 
there and sass me, if you did n’t have Hud to back 
you. Just come over the fence once, and leave Hud 
on the other side ; I ’ll pitch you into the middle of 
next week so quick you ’ll be dizzy the rest of your 
natural life.” And he walked on up the road. 

“ Here ! come back ! I ’ll fight you ! You ’re 
afraid S ” Zeph yelled after him. 

“ I ’ll come round and ’tend to your case pretty 
soon,” Rufe replied. “ I ’ve something of more im- 
portance to look after just now ; I ’ve a pig to poke.” 

Hud went on digging potatoes ; but Zeph presently 
threw down his hoe and ran to the house. Shortly 
after, he returned ; and then Jack, who had sat down 
to rest in a commanding position, on the borders of 


182 


THE YOUNG SURVEYOR. 


the woodland, was pleased to see Peakslow lead Snow- 
foot down the slope from the barn, and turn him into 
the pasture. 

Rufe got home some time before his brothers, who 
seemed to linger at the spring. 

“ There they are ! ” said Lill ; “ Link with the fork 
on his shoulder, and Wad bringing the pail.” 

Rufe was sitting on the grindstone frame, as they 
came into the yard. 

“ Did you hear me blackguard the Peakslow boys ? 
They think J ack — Hullo ! ” Rufe suddenly ex- 
claimed. “ I thought you was Wad ! ” 

“ I am, for the present,” said Jack, laughing under 
Wad s hat. “ Do you think Peakslow will know me 
ten rods off ? ” 

“ Not in that hat and coat ! Lill and I both took 
you for Wad.” 

“ I am all right, then ! Where ’s your father ? I 
wonder if he would n’t like to try my gun.” 

Lord Betterson now came out of the house, fresh 
from his after-dinner nap, and looked a good deal of 
polite surprise at seeing Jack in Wad’s hat and coat. 

“Mr. Betterson,” said Jack, “Peakslow thinks I 
have gone home, and he has turned Snowfoot out to 
grass. Now, if I should wish to throw down a corner 
of the fence between his pasture and your buck- 
wheat, have you any objection ? ” 

“ None whatever,” replied my lord, with a flourish, 
as if giving Jack the freedom of his acres. 

“And perhaps,” said Jack, “you would like to go 


PREPARING FOR THE ATTACK. 183 

down to the buckwheat-lot with me and try my gun. 
I hear you are a crack shot.” 

“ I can’t boast much of my marksmanship now- 
adays ; I could fetch down a bird once. Thank you, 

— I ’ll go with pleasure.” 

“ You are not going to get into trouble, Jack ? ” 
said Vinnie, with lively concern, seeing him tie the 
halter to his back. 

“ O no ! Mr. Betterson is going to give me a 
lesson in shooting on the wing. I ’ll take the bridle, 
so that if Snowfoot should happen to jump the 
fence when he sees me, I shall be ready for him, 
you know. Now I wonder if we can take Lion along 
without his being seen. He is tired of sitting still.” 

“We can take him to the farther side of the corn- 
field, easily enough.” 

“ That will answer. Come, Lion ! ” The dog 
bounded with joy. “ Keep right by my heels now, 
old fellow, and mind every word I say. Don’t be 
anxious about us, Vinnie. And, Bufe, if you could 
manage to engage the Peakslow boys in conversation, 
about the time we are shooting hens pretty near the 
fence, you might help the sport.” 

“ I ’ll follow you along, and branch off toward the 
potato-patch, and ask Zeph what he meant by offer- 
ing to fight me,” said Bufe. 

“ I ’m going to get up on the cow-shed, and see 
the battle,” said Link. “ On Linden when the sun 
was low, and the buckwheat-patch was all in blow, 

— I’ma poet, you know ! ” 


184 


THE YOUNG SURVEYOR. 


CHAPTER XXV. 

THE BATTLE OF THE BOUNDARY FENCE. 

The little party set off, watched by Yinnie with a 
good deal of anxiety. The dog was left in the edge 
of the corn ; and Jack, with a good milky ear in his 
pocket, followed Mr. Betterson into the buckwheat- 
field. 

“ There ’s Wad and his dad after prairie chickens,” 
said Zeph. 

“ Yes,” said Dud, “ and here comes Rufe after you. 
He ’ll give you Hail Columbij one of these days, 
when I ain’t round.” 

“ I ’ll resk him,” muttered Zeph. 

“ Look here, you young scapegrace ! ” Rufe called 
from over the fence, “ I ’ve come to take you at your 
word. Want to fight me, do ye ? I ’m ready, if 
you ’re particular about it.” 

“ Come near me, and I ’ll sink a stun in your 
head ! ” said Zeph, frightened. 

“ You ’ve got that phrase from the Wiggett boys,” 
said Rufe. " I ’d fight with something besides bor- 
rowed slang, if I was you.” 

Betterson meanwhile brought down a prairie chicken 
with a grace of gesture and suddenness of aim which 
Jack would have greatly admired if he had not had 
other business on his mind. 


THE BATTLE OF THE BOUNDARY FENCE. 185 


The bird fell in the direction of the boundary fence. 
Jack ran as if to pick it up, at the same time giving 
a low whistle for his dog. He stooped, and was for 
a minute hidden by the fence from the Peakslow 
boys, — if, indeed, Rufegave them leisure just then to 
look in that direction. 

Darting forward to the fence, Jack took down the 
top rails of a corner, and made a motion to Lion, 
who leaped over. 

“Catch Snowfoot ! catch Snowfoot!” said Jack, 
quickly placing the ear of corn in the dog’s mouth. 

The horse was feeding some six rods off, near 
Peakslow’s pair, when the dog, singling him out, 
ran up and began to coquet with him, flourishing 
the ear of corn. 

The boys were talking so loud, and Jack had let 
down the rails so gently, and Lion had sped away 
so silently, that the movement was not observed by 
the enemy until Snowfoot started for the fence. 
Even then the excited boys did not see what was 
going on. But Peakslow did. 

If Snowfoot had been in his usual spirits he would 
have soon been off the Peakslow premises. But his 
long pull from Chicago had tamed him ; and though 
hunger induced him to follow the ear of corn, it was 
at a pace which Jack found exasperatingly slow, — 
especially when he saw Peakslow running to the 
pasture, gun in hand, and heard him shout, — 

“ Let that hoss alone ! I ’ll shoot you, and your 


186 


THE YOUNG SURVEYOR. 


Jack answered by calling, “ Co’ jock! co’ jock! 
Come, Lion! Come, Snowfoot ! Co’ jock!” 

At the same time Zepli and Dud took the alarm, 
and ran toward the gap Jack had made, — they on 
one side of the fence, while Bufe raced with them 
on the other. Meanwhile Betterson, having coolly 
reloaded his discharged barrel, walked with his usual 
quiet, dignified step to the broken fence. 

“Better keep this side,” he said with deliberate 
politeness to Jack. “You are on my land; you’ve 
a right here.” 

“ Oh ! but that horse never will come ! ” said Jack. 
“ Co’ jock ! co’ jock ! ” 

“ He is all right ; keep cool, keep cool ! ” said Bet- 
terson. 

On came Peakslow, the inverted prow of his 
hooked nose cutting the air, — both hands grasping 
the gun, ready for a shot. 

Jack did not heed him. Snatching the corn from 
Lion’s mouth, he held it out to Snowfoot : in a 
moment Snowfoot was crunching corn and bits, and 
the bridle was slipping over his ears. 

“Head him off, boys!” shouted Peakslow. Then 
to Jack, “ Stop, or I ’ll shoot ! ” 

“ If there ’s any shooting to be done,” said Bet- 
terson, without for a moment losing his politeness 
of tone and manner, “ I can shoot as quick as any- 
body ; and, by the powers above, I will, if you draw 
trigger on that boy ! ” 

“ Take care of him, — go ! ” cried Jack, giving 


THE BATTLE OF THE BOUNDARY FENCE. 187 

Lion the bridle-rein and Snowfoot a slap. Then 
confronting Peakslow, “ I Ve got my horse ; I ’m 


r~ 



“stop, or i’ll shoot !” 


on Mr. Betterson’s land ; what have you to say about 
it?” 

“ I T1 shoot your dog ! ” 


188 


THE YOUNG SURVEYOR. 


“No, you won’t !” And Jack sprang between the 
infuriated man and Lion leading off the horse. 

Dud and Zeph were by this time on Betterson’s 
side of the fence, hurrying to head off Snowfoot. 

“ Keep out of our buckwheat ! ” cried llufe. “ By 
George, Zeph, now I ’ve got you where I want you.” 

“ Help ! Dud, Dud — help ! ” screamed Zeph. 

But Dud had something else to do. He sprang 
to seize Snowfoot’s bridle ; when Lion, without loos- 
ing his hold of it, turned with such fury upon the 
intruder, that he recoiled, and, tripping his heels in 
the trodden buckwheat, keeled over backward. 

Meanwhile Bufe had Zeph down, and was rubbing 
the soft black loam of the tilled field very thoroughly 
into his features, giving especial attention to his neck 
and ears. Zeph was spitting the soil of the country, 
and screaming ; and Rufe was saying, — 

“ Lie still ! I ’ll give your face such a scouring as 
it has n’t had since you was a baby and fell into the 
soft-soap barrel ! ” 

Jack backed quietly off, as Peakslow, cocking his 
gun, pressed upon him with loud threats and blazing 
eyes. The angry man was striding through the gap, 
when Betterson stepped before him, courteous, stately, 
with a polite but dangerous smile. 

“ Have a care, friend Peakslow ! ” he said. “ If 
you come upon my premises with a gun, threatening 
to shoot folks, I ’ll riddle you with small shot ; I ’ll 
fill you as full of holes as a pepper-box !” 


VICTORY. 


189 


CHAPTER XXVI. 

VICTORY. 

Peakslow halted in the gap of the fence, his fury- 
cooling before Lord Betterson’s steady eyes and quiet 
threat. 

Betterson went on, speaking deliberately, while 
his poised and ready barrels gave emphasis to his 
remarks, — 

“ You ’ve talked a good deal of shooting, one time 
and another, friend Peakslow. I think it is about 
time to have done with that foolishness. Excuse my 
frankness.” 

“ I ’ve a right to defend my property and my 
premises ! ” said Peakslow, glowing and fuming, 
but never stepping beyond the gap. 

“ What property or premises, good neighbor ? The 
horse is this young man’s ; and nobody has set foot 
on your land.” 

“ That dog was on my land.” 

“ And so was the horse,” put in Jack. 

“ Take him off, pa ! he ’s smotherin’ on me ! ” 
shouted Zeph. 

“Your boy is abusin’ mine. I’ll take care o’ 
him ! ” And Peakslow set a foot over the two 
lower rails left in the gap. 


190 


THE YOUNG SURVEYOR. 


“You’d better stay where you are, — accept a 
friend’s disinterested advice,” remarked Betterson. 
“ If your boy had been on the right side of the 
fence, minding his own business, — you will bear 
with me if I am quite plain in my speech, — my 
boy would have had no occasion to soil his hands 
with him.” 

Peakslow appeared quite cowed by this unex- 
pected show of determination in his easy-going 
neighbor. He stood astride the rails, just where 
Betterson had arrested his advance, and contented 
himself with urging Dud to the rescue of his 
brother. 

“ Why do ye stan’ there and see Zeph treated that 
way ? Why don’t ye pitch in ? ” 

“That’s a game two can play at,” said Jack. 
“Hands off, Dud, my boy.” And he stood by to 
see fair play. 

“ My boy had a right on that land ; it ’s by good 
rights mine to-day ! ” exclaimed Peakslow. 

“We won’t discuss that question ; it has been 
settled once, neighbor,” replied Betterson. “Rufus, 
I think you ’ve done enough for that boy ; his face 
is blacker than I ever saw it, which is saying a 
good deal. Let him go. Mr. Peakslow,” — with a 
bow of gracious condescension over the frayed stock, 
— “ you are welcome to as much of this disputed 
territory as you can shake out of that youngster’s 
clothes, — not any more.” 

“ That seems to be a good deal,” said Jack, laugh- 


VICTORY. 


191 


ing to see Zepli scramble up, gasping, blubbering, 
flirting soil from his clothes and hair, and clawing 
it desperately from his besmeared face. 

“That’s for daring me to fight you,” said Rufe, 
as he let him go. “ I ’ll pay you some other time 
for what you did to Cecie”; while Zeph went off 
howling. 

“No more, Rufus,” said Betterson. “Come and 
put up this fence.” 

“ I ’ll do that,” said Jack. “ I ’m bound to leave 
it as I found it; if Mr. Peakslow will please step 
either forward or back.” 

Peakslow concluded to step back ; and Jack and 
Rufe laid up the corner, rail by rail. 

“ Don’t you think you ’ve played me a perty 
shabby trick ? ” said Peakslow, glaring at Jack. 

“You are hardly the man to speak with a very 
good grace of anybody s shabby tricks,” Jack replied, 
putting up the top rail before the hooked nose. 

“ I did n’t think it of you ! ” And Peakslow cast 
longing eyes after the horse. 

“You must have forgotten what you thought,” 
said Jack. “You didn’t dare turn the horse out 
till Zeph told you I ’d gone home ; and it seems 
you kept pretty close watch of him then.” 

Peakslow choked back his wrath, and muttered, — 

“ Ye might ’a’ gi’n me suthin for my trouble.” 

“ So I would, willingly, if you had acted decently.” 

“ Gi’ me suthin now, and settle it.” 

“I consider it already settled, — like your land- 


192 


THE YOUNG SURVEYOR. 


claim dispute,” said Jack. “But no matter; how 
much do you want ? Don’t bid too high, you 
know.” 

“ Gi’ me a dollar, anyhow ! ” 

Jack laughed. 

“If I should give you enough to pay for the 
charge in your gun, would n’t that satisfy you ? 
Though, as you didn’t fire it at me, I don’t quite 
see that I ought to defray the expense of it. Good 
day, Mr. Peakslow.” 

J ack went to find the chicken that had been shot ; 
and Peakslow vented his rage upon his neighbor 
across the fence. 

“ What a pattern of a man you be ! stuck-up, 
strutting — a turkey-gobbler kind of man, I call ye. 
Think I ’m afraid o’ yer gun ? ” 

“I have no answer to make to remarks of that 
nature,” said Lord Betterson, retiring from the fence. 

“ Hain’t, hey ? ” Peakslow roared after him. “ Peel 
above a common man like me, do ye ? Guess I pay 
my debts. If I set out to build, guess I look out 
and not bu’st up ’fore I get my paintin’ and plasterin’ 
done. Nothin’ to say to me, hey ? ” 

Betterson coolly resumed his slow and stately 
march across the buckwheat, looking for prairie 
chickens. 

“You puffed-up, pompous, would-be ’ristocrat!” 
said Peakslow, more and more furious, “ where ’d 
you be if your relations did n’t furnish ye money ? 
Poorer ’n ye be now, I guess. What if I should 


VICTORY. 


193 


tell ye wliat yer neighbors say of ye ? Guess ye 
would n’t carry yer head so plaguy high ! ” 

Two chickens rose from before Betterson’s feet, 
and flew to right and left. With perfect coolness 
and precision of aim he fired and brought down one, 
then turned and dropped the other, with scarce an 
interval of three seconds between the reports. 

“ This is a very pretty piece of yours,” he observed 
smilingly, with a stately wave of the hand toward 
Jack. 

" I never saw anything so handsomely done ! ” ex- 
claimed Jack, bringing the chicken previously shot. 

At the same time he could not help glancing with 
some apprehension at Peakslow, not knowing what 
that excitable neighbor might do, now that Better- 
son’s two barrels were empty. 

“ I think I will stay and have one or two more 
shots,” said Betterson. “A very pretty piece in- 
deed!” 

The muttering thunder of Peakslow’s wrath died 
away in the distance, as he retired with his forces. 
Rufe picked up the last two prairie chickens and 
followed Jack, who ran to overtake the dog and 
horse. 

Lion still held the bridle-rein, letting Snowfoot 
nip the grass that grew along the borders of the 
corn, but keeping him from the corn itself. Jack 
patted and praised the dog, and stroked and caressed 
the horse, looking him all over to see if he had 
received any fresh injury. 

9 


M 


194 


THE YOUNG SURVEYOR. 


Then Bufe joined him; and presently Wad came' 
bounding down the slope from the barn, laughing, 
carrying Jack’s coat; and Link appeared, running 
and limping, having hurt his ankle in jumping down 
from the cow-shed. Behind came Chokie, trudging 
on his short legs, and tumbling and sprawling at 
every few steps. 

The boys were jubilant over the victory, and Jack 
was the object of loud congratulations; while Lion 
and Snowfoot formed the centre of the little group. 

“Much obliged to you, Wad,” said Jack, as they 
re-exchanged coats and hats. “ Thanks to you, I ’ve 
got my horse again. Thanks to all of you. Boys, I 
was perfectly astonished at your father’s pluck ! ” 
And he could not help thinking what a really noble 
specimen of a man Betterson might have made, if he 
had not been standing on his dignity and waiting for 
legacies all his life. 

“ Not many folks know what sort of a man father 
is,” replied Bufe. “ Peakslow would have found out, 
if he had drawn a bead on you. How quick he 
stopped, and changed countenance ! He can govern 
his temper when he finds he must ; and he can cringe 
and crawl when he sees it ’s for his interest. Think 
of his asking you at last, — after you had got your 
horse in spite of him, and at the risk of your life, — 
think of his begging you to give him a dollar!” 

Jack said, “Look at that galled spot on Snow- 
foot’s neck! Peakslow has got all he could out of 
him the past week, — kept him low and worked him 


































































■ 














Returning in Triumph 








VICTORY. 


195 


hard in a cruel collar. Never mind, old Snowfoot ! 
better times have come now, for both of us. Here, 
Link, you are lame ; want a ride ? ” 

Link did want a ride, of course, — who ever saw a 
boy that did n’t ? J ack took hold of his foot and 
helped him mount upon Snowfoot’s back ; then called 
to Chokie, who was getting up from his last tumble 
(with loud lamentations), a few yards off. 

“ Here, Chokie ; don’t cry ; fun is n’t all over yet ; 
you can ride too.” Tossing the urchin up, Jack set 
him behind Link. “ Hold on now, Chokie ; hug 
brother tight ! ” 

Both chubby arms reaching half around Link’s 
waist, one chubby cheek pressed close to Link’s sus- 
pender, and two chubby legs sticking out on Snow- 
foot’s back, Chokie forgot his griefs, and, with the 
tear-streaks still wet on his cheeks, enjoyed the fear- 
ful pleasure of the ride. 

Yinnie’s bright face watched from the door, the 
delighted Lill clapped her hands, and Mrs. Betterson 
and Cecie looked eagerly from the window, as the 
little procession approached the house, — Lion walk- 
ing sedately before, then Link and Chokie riding the 
lost horse, and Jack and Eufe and Wad following 
with the prairie chickens. 

More congratulations. Then Lord Betterson came 
from the field with another bird. Then Snowfoot 
was saddled, and Jack, with dog and gun, and two 
of the prairie chickens, took leave of his friends, and 
rode home in triumph. 


196 


TIIE YOUNG SURVEYOR. 


CHAPTER XXVII. 

VINNIE IN THE LION’S DEN. 

When Link the next morning went to the spring 
for water he found that the Peakslow hoys (it could 
have been nobody else) had, by a dastardly trick, 
taken revenge for the defeat of the day before. 

Link came limping back (his ankle was still sore) 
with an empty pail, and loud complaints of the 
enemy. 

“They’ve been and gone and filled the spring with 
earth and leaves and sticks, and all sorts of rubbish ! 
It will take an hour to dig it out, and then all day 
for the water to settle and be fit to drink.” 

“ Those dreadful Peakslow boys ! what shall we 
do ? ” Caroline said despairingly. “ No water for 
breakfast, and no near neighbors but the Peakslows ; 
but their well is the last place where we should 
think of going for water.” 

“ I ’ll tell you what I ’ll do ! ” said Link. “ I ’ll go 
to-night and give ’em such a dose in their well, that 
they won’t want any water from it for the next two 
months ! I know where there ’s a dead rabbit. The 
Peakslows don’t get the start of us ! ” 

“ I don’t see but that one of the boys will have to 
go to Mr. Wiggett’s for water,” said poor Caroline, 
bemoaning her troubles. 


VINNIE IN THE LION’S DEN. 


197 


“ Eufe and Wad are doing the chores,” said Link, 
“ and I ’m lame. Besides, you don’t catch one of us 
going to old Wiggett’s for water, for we should have 
to pass Peakslow’s house, and it would please ’em too 
well.” 

“Let me take the pail; I will get some water,” 
said Vinnie. 

“ Why, Lavinia dear ! ” Caroline exclaimed, “ what 
are you thinking of? Where are you going?” 

“ To Mr. Peakslow’s,” Vinnie answered with a 
smile. 

“ Going into the lion’s den ! Don’t think of such 
a thing, Lavinia dear!” 

“ No, by sixty ! ” cried Link. “ I don’t want them 
boys to sass you ! I ’d rather go a mile in the other 
direction for water, — bother the lame foot ! ” 

But Vinnie quietly persisted, saying it would do 
no harm for her to try ; and putting on her bonnet, 
she started off with the empty pail. 

I cannot say that she felt no misgivings ; but the 
consciousness of doing a simple and blameless act 
helped to quiet the beating of her heart as she ap- 
proached the Peakslow door. 

It was open, and she could see the family at 
breakfast within, while the loud talking prevented 
her footsteps from being heard. 

Besides Dud and Zeph, there were three or four 
younger children, girls and boys, the youngest of 
whom — a child with bandaged hands and arms — 
sat in its father’s lap. 


198 


THE YOUNG SURVEYOR. 


Yinnie remembered the swarthy face, bushy beard, 
and hooked nose ; and yet she could hardly believe 
that this was the same man who once showed her 
such ruffianly manners on the wharf in Chicago. He 
was fondling and feeding the child, and talking to it, 
and drumming on the table with his knife to amuse 
it and still its complaining cries. 

“Surely,” thought Yinnie, “there must be some 
good in a man who shows so much affection even 
toward his own child.” And with growing courage 
she advanced to the threshold. 

Mrs. Peakslow — a much-bent, over- worked wo- 
man, with a pinched and peevish face — looked up 
quickly across the table and stared at the strange 
visitor. In a moment all eyes were turned upon 
Yinnie. 

“ I beg your pardon,” she said, pausing at the door. 
“I wish to get a pail of water. Can I go to your 
well and help myself?” 

The children — and especially Dud and Zeph — 
looked in astonishment at the bright face and girlish 
form in the doorway. As Mr. Peakslow turned his 
face toward her, all the tenderness went out of it. 

“What do Betterson’s folks send here for w r ater 
for ? And what makes 'em send a gal ? Why don’t 
they come themselves ? ” 

“ They did not send me,” Yinnie answered as 
pleasantly as she could. “ I came of my own ac- 
cord.” 

Peakslow wheeled round on his chair. 


YINNIE IN THE LION’S DEN. 


199 


" Queer sort of folks, they be ! An’ seems to me 
you must be queer, to be stoppin’ with ’em.” 

“ Mrs. Betterson is my sister,” replied Yinnie in a 
trembling voice. “ I came to her because she is sick, 
and Cecie — because I was needed,” she said, avoid- 
ing the dangerous ground of Zepli’s offence. 

“ I ’ve nothin’ pa’tic’lar ag’in Mis’ Betterson as I 
know on,” said Peakslow, “ though of course she sides 
with him ag’in me, an’ of course you side with her” 

“ I ’ve nothing to do with Mr. Betterson’s quar- 
rels,” Yinnie answered, drawing back from the door. 
“ Will you kindly permit me to get a pail of water ? 
I am sorry if I give you any trouble.” 

“No trouble; water’s cheap,” said Peakslow. 
“ But why don’t they have a well o’ their own, ’ste’d 
o’ dependin’ on their neighbors ? What makes ’em 
so plaguy shif ’less ? ” 

“They have a well, but it is dry this summer, 
and—” 

“ Dry every summer, ain’t it ? What a way to dig 
a well that was ! ” 

“ They have a very good spring,” Yinnie said, “ but 
something happened to it last night.” At which 
Dud and Zeph giggled and looked sheepish. 

“What happened to the spring?” 

“Somebody put rubbish into it.” 

“ Who done it, did you hear ’em say ? ” 

“ I don’t know who did it ; and I should be sorry 
to accuse any person of such an act,” Yinnie an- 
swered with firm but serene dignity. 


200 


THE YOUNG SURVEYOR. 


The boys looked more sheepish and giggled less. 

“ I know who put stuff in the spring,” spoke up a 
little one, proud of being able to convey useful infor- 
mation; “Dud and Zeph — ” 

But at that moment Dud’s hand stopped the prat- 
tler’s mouth. 

“ I don’t believe my boys have done anything of 
the kind,” said Peakslow ; “ though ’t would n’t be 
strange if they - did. See how that great lubberly 
Ptufe treated our Zeph yist’day ! rubbed the dirt into 
his skin so ’t he hain’t got it washed out yit.” 

“I am sorry for these misunderstandings,” said 
Vinnie, turning to Mrs. Peakslow with an appealing 
look. “ I wish you and my sister knew each other 
better. You have a sick child, too, I see.” 

“ ’T ain’t sick, ’xac’ly,” replied the mother in a 
peevish, snarling tone. “ Pulled over the teapot, and 
got hands and arms scalt.” 

“ O, poor little thing ! ” Yinnie exclaimed. “ What 
have you done for it ? ” 

“ Hain’t done nothin’ much, only wrapped up the 
blistered places in Injin meal ; that ’s coolin’.” 

“Ho doubt; but I ’ve some salve, the best thins in 
the world for burns. I wish you would let me bring 
you some.” 

“ I guess Bubby ’ll git along ’thout no help from 
outside,” said Peakslow, his ill-natured growl soft- 
ened by a feeling of tenderness for the child which 
just then came over him. “ He ’s weathered the 
wust on’t.” 


VINNIE IN THE LION’S DEN. 


201 


But Bubby’s fretful cries told that what was left 
was bad enough. 

“ I will bring you the salve,” said Yinnie, “and I 
hope you will try it ; it is so hard to see these little 
ones suffer.” 

She was retiring, when Peakslow called after 
her, — 

“ Goin’ ’itliout the water ? ” 

“I — thought — you had not told me I could 
have it.” 

“ Have it ! of course you can have it ; I would n’t 
refuse nobody a pail o’ water. Ye see where the 
well is?” 

“O yes; thank you.” And Yinnie hastened to 
the curb. 

“ She can’t draw it,” snickered Zeph. “ Handle ’s 
broke ; and the crank ’ll slip out of her hands and 
knock her to Jericho, if she don’t look out.” 

“ Seems to be a perty spoken gal,” said Peakslow, 
turning to finish his breakfast. “ I Ve nothin’ ag’in 
her. You ’ve finished your breakfast ; better go out, 
Dudley, and tell her to look out about the crank.” 

With mixed emotions in his soul, Dud went ; his 
countenance enlivened at one and the same time 
with a blush of boyish bashfulness and a malicious 
grin. As he drew near, and saw Yinnie embarrassed 
with the windlass, which seemed determined to let 
the bucket down too fast (as if animated with a gen- 
uine Peakslow spite toward her), the grin predomi- 
nated; but when she turned upon him a troubled, 
9 * 


202 


THE YOUNG SURVEYOR. 


smiling face, the grin subsided, and the blush became 
a general conflagration, extending to the tips of his 
ears. 

“ How does ’t go ? ” 

“ It ’s inclined to go altogether too fast,” said Vin- 
nie, stopping the windlass ; “ and it hurts my hands.” 

“ Le’ me show ye.” 

And Dud, taking her place by the curb, let the 
windlass revolve with moderated velocity under the 
pressure of his rough palms, until the bucket struck 
the water. Then, drawing it up, he filled her pail. 

The grin had by this time faded quite out of his 
countenance; and when she thanked him sweetly 
and sincerely for helping her, the blush became a 
blush of pleasure. 

“ It is more than I can carry,” she said. “ I shall 
have to pour out some.” 

Thereupon Dud Peakslow astonished himself by 
an extraordinary act of gallantry. 

“ I ’ll carry it for ye as fur as the road ; I ’d carry 
it all the way, if ’t was anywhere else.” And he ac- 
tually took up the pail. 

“ You seem to have a very bad opinion of my rela- 
tions,” Yinnie said. 

“ Good reason ! They hate us, too ! ” 

“ And think they have good reason. But I ’m sure 
you are not so bad as they believe; and you may 
possibly be mistaken about them. Let me take the 
pail now. You are very kind.” 

Dud gave up the pail with reluctance, and gazed 


VINNIE IN THE LION’S DEN. 


203 


after her up the road, his stupid mouth ajar with an 
expression of wistful wonder and pleasure. 

“Hurry now and git up the team, Dud!” his 
father called from the door. “ What ye stan’in’ there 
for ? Did n’t ye never see a gal afore ? ” 

When Yinnie reached home with her pail of 
water, all gathered around, eager to hear her ad- 
venture. 

“The lions were not very savage, after all,” she 
said, laughing. 


204 


THE YOUNG SURVEYOR. 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 

AN “EXTRAORDINARY” GIRL. 

After breakfast Vinnie left Lill to “do the 
dishes,” and went with her box of salve to fulfil 
her promise to Mrs. Peakslow. Dud and Zepli were 
off at work with their father ; and she was glad to 
find the mother alone with the younger children. 

“ Oh ! you ag’in ? ” said Mrs. Peakslow, by the chim- 
ney, looking up from a skillet she was stooping over 
and scraping. “ Ye need n’t ’a’ took the trouble. 
Guess Bubby’s burns ’ll git along.” 

But Vinnie was not to be rebuffed. 

“ I have brought some linen rags to spread the 
salve on. Will you let me do it myself ? I wish 
you would; the poor thing is suffering so.” 

And Vinnie knelt down beside the girl who was 
holding Bubby in her arms. 

“ Is ’t any o’ the Betterson folks’s sa’v’ ? ” Mrs. 
Peakslow inquired, scraping away at her skillet. 

“ No ; it is some I broug'lit from the East with me, 
thinking I should find a use for it in my sister’s fam- 
ily; it is good for various things.” 

“Better keep it for her family!” snarled Mrs. 
Peakslow. Scrape, scrape. 

“ There ’s plenty and to spare,” said Vinnie, unroll- 


AN “ EXTRAORDINARY ” GIRL. 


205 


ing her rags. “ And my sister will be only too glad 
if it can be of any service to you.” 

“ Think so ? ” Mrs. Peakslow stopped her scrap- 
ing and scowled at Vinnie. “ Her folks hain’t never 
showed us none too much good-will.” 

“They have never known you, — you have never 
understood each other,” said Yinnie. “ It is too bad 
that the troubles between the men should prevent 
you and her from being on neighborly terms. Can I 
use a corner of this table to spread the salve ? And 
can I see the little thing’s burns, so as to shape the 
plasters to cover them ? ” 

“He tol’ me not to use the saV, if ye brought 
it,” said Mrs. Peakslow doubtfully, laying down the 
skillet. 

“ When he sees the good effect of it I am sure he 
won’t complain ; he is too fond of his little boy,” said 
Yinnie, placing rags and salve on the table. “ Will 
you let me take a case-knife and a pair of scissors ? ” 

“ Got rags enough of my own. Need n’t trouble 
yourself to cut and spread plasters. Try the sa’v’, ’f 
ye say so.” 

Yinnie did say so, and dressed Bubby’s burns with 
her own hands, doing the work so deftly and ten- 
derly, talking now to the child, now to the mother, 
who had taken him into her lap, and showing in 
every look and tone so cheerful and sweet a spirit 
that poor Mrs. Peakslow’s peevish heart warmed and 
softened toward her. 

“I do declare,” she said, as the outer bandages 


206 


THE YOUNG SURVEYOR. 


were going on, “ Bubby feels comforted a’ready. 
Must be dreffle good saV ! Much obleeged to ye, 
I ’m sure. How is yer sister ? ” 

“ Much better than she was ; and the baby is bet- 
ter too. Indeed,” said Yinnie, “I think the baby 
will get well as soon as the mother does.” 

“ And Cede — how ’s Cede ? ” Mrs. Peakslow tim- 
idly asked. 

“ 0, Cede is in very good spirits ! She is the most 
gentle, patient, beautiful girl you ever saw ! She 
never complains ; and she is always so grateful for 
any little thing that is done for he£ ! ” 

“ S’pose the folks feel hard to our Zeph ; don’t 
they ? ” 

“ I believe the boys do, and you can hardly wonder 
at it, Mrs. Peakslow,” said Yinnie ; “ their own dear 
sister! crippled for life, perhaps. But Cecie won’t 
allow that your son meant to hurt her ; she always 
takes his part when the subject is brought up.” 

“ Does she ? ” exclaimed Mrs. Peakslow, surprised 
into sudden tears. “ I would n’t ’a’ believed that ! 
Must be she ’s a good gal. Truth is, Zeph had n’t no 
notion o’ hurtin’ on her. It ’s re’ly troubled me, — 
it ’s troubled all on us, though I don’t s’pose her 
folks ’ll believe it. ” 

And Mrs. Peakslow, not finding it convenient to 
get at her apron, with Bubby in her lap, wiped her 
eyes with a remnant of Yinnie’s rags. 

“ Is n’t it too sad that this quarrel is kept up ? ” 
said Yinnie. 


AN "EXTRAORDINARY” GIRL. 


207 


“ 0 clear me ! nobody knows,” said Mrs. Peakslow, 
in a quavering voice, “ what a life it is ! Our folks 
is some to blame, I s’pose. But the Bettersons have 
been so aggravatin’ ! Though I ’ve nothin’ ag’in the 
gals. They ’re as perty gals as I ’d ask to have play 
with my children. My children is sufferin’ for mates. 
I want society, too, for it ’s a dreffle life, — a drefile 
life ! ” And the quavering voice broke into sobs. 

Yinnie was surprised and pained at this outburst, 
and hardly knew what reply to make. 

“ Lyddy, wipe them dishes ! ” Mrs. Peakslow went 
on again, sopping her eyes with the remnant of rags. 
“ Lecty Ann ! here, take Bubby. Scuse me, miss ; 
I d’n’ know what sot me goin’ this way ; but my 
heart ’s been shet up so long ; I ’ve so wanted sym- 
pathy ! ” And now the apron did service in place of 
the rags. 

“ Yes, I know,” said Yinnie. “ This is a lonesome 
country, unless you have friends around you. There 
seem to be a few nice people here, — people from the 
East ; you are from the East, I suppose ? ” 

“ 0 yes ; but he ain’t a very social man, an’ he ’s 
dreffle sot in his way. He don’t go out nowheres, 
’thout he has business, an’ he don’t think there’s 
any need of a woman’s goin’ out. So there it is. 
The Wiggetts, our neighbors on one side, ain’t our 
kind o’ people ; then there ’s the Bettersons on 
t’other side. An’ there’s alius so many things a 
wife has to put up with, an’ hold her tongue. 0 
dear ! 0 dear ! Keep to your work, gals ! hear ? ” 


208 


THE YOUNG SURVEYOR. 


There was something almost comical in this sharp 
and shrill winding-up of the good woman’s pathetic 
discourse ; hut Vinnie never felt less like laughing. 

“ I am glad you can speak freely to me,” she said. 
“ I ’ll come and see you again, if you will let me ; and 
I want you some time to come and see my sister.” 

“ I d’n’ know ! I d’n’ know ! ” said Mrs. Peakslow, 
still weeping. “ You may come here , — like to have 
ye, — only it ’ll be jest as well if you time your vis- 
its when me an’ the gals is alone ; you know what 
men-folks be.” 

“You are really an extraordinary girl, Lavinia 
dear!” Caroline said, when Vinnie went home and 
told her story. “ Did you know it ? ” 

Vinnie laughed. 

“ Why, no ; I never thought of such a thing ; what 
I do comes so very natural.” 

“ Extraordinary ! ” Caroline repeated, regarding her 
admiringly. “ I ’m proud of such a sister. I always 
told Mr. Betterson there was good blood on our side 
too. I wonder what Radcliff would think of you.” 

Vinnie sincerely believed that so fine a young 
gentleman would not think anything of her at all, 
but feared it might seem like affectation in he to 
say so. 

“And I wonder,” Caroline continued, with the 
usual simper which her favorite theme inspired, 
“what you would think of Radcliff. Ah, Lavinia 
dear ! it is a comfort for me to reflect that it was a 
Betterson — nobody less than a thoroughbred Bet- 


AN “ EXTRAORDINARY ” GIRL. 


209 


terson — who took the place in our family which 
you would otherwise have filled.” 

Evidently Caroline’s conscience was not quite easy 
on the subject of her early neglect of so “extraor- 
dinary ” a sister ; for she often alluded to it in this 
way. Vinnie now begged her not to mention it again. 

“ And you really cherish no hard feelings ? ” 

“ None whatever.” 

“ You are very good. And pretty ; did you know 
it? Quite pretty.” 

Vinnie laughed again. 

“Mrs. Presbit brought me up to the wholesome 
belief that I was quite plain.” 

“That was to prevent you from becoming vain. 
Vanity, you know,” said Caroline, with her most 
exquisite simper, “ spoils so many girls ! I ’in thank- 
ful it does n’t run in our family ! But did n’t your 
glass undeceive you ? ” 

“ On the contrary, I used to look in it and say to 
myself, 'It is a very common face ; I wish it was 
pretty, but Aunt Presbit is right ; I ’m a homely 
little thing ! ’ ” 

“ And you felt bad ? ” 

“ I never mourned over it ; though, of course, I 
should have much preferred to be handsome.” 

“ And has n’t anybody ever told you you icere 
handsome ? ” 

Vinnie blushed. 

“ Of course I ’ve heard a good deal of nonsense 
talked now and then.” 

N 


210 


THE YOUNG SURVEYOR. 


“ Lavinia dear, you are extraordinary. And hand-- 
some, though not in the usual sense of the word. 
Your face is rather common, in repose, hut it lights 
up wonderfully. And, after all, I don't know that 
it is so much your face, as the expression you throw 
into it, that is so enchanting. What would Radcliff 
Betterson say to you, I wonder ? ” 


ANOTHER HUNT, AND HOW IT ENDED. 


211 


CHAPTER XXIX. 

ANOTHER HUNT, AND HOW IT ENDED. 

Jack had one day been surveying a piece of land 
a few miles east of Long Woods. It was not very 
late in the afternoon when he finished his work ; and 
he found that, by going a little out of his way and 
driving rather fast, he could, before night, make 
Yinnie and her friends a call, and perhaps give Mrs. 
AYiggett the promised noon-mark on her kitchen 
floor. 

Leaving in due time the more travelled thorough- 
fare, he turned off upon the neighborhood road, which 
he knew passed through the woods and struck the 
river road near Betterson’s house. Away on his left 
lay the rolling prairie, over a crest of which he, on a 
memorable occasion, saw Snowfoot disappear with 
his strange rider ; and he was fast approaching the 
scene of his famous deer-hunt. 

Jack had his gun with him ; and, though he did 
not stop to give much attention to the prairie hens 
which now and then ran skulkingly across the track, 
or flew up from beside his buggy-wheels, he could 
not help looking for larger game. 

“ I ’d like to see another doe and fawn feeding off 
on the prairie there, 1 ” thought he. “ Wonder if I 


212 


THE YOUNG SURVEYOR. 


could find some obliging young man to drive them 
in!” 

He whipped up Snowfoot, and presently, riding 
over a swell of land, discovered a stranger walking on 
before him in the road. 

“No deer or fawn,” thought he; “but there ’s 
possibly an obliging young man.” 

As he drove on, fast overtaking the pedestrian, 
Jack was very much struck by his appearance. He 
was a slender person ; he walked at a loitering pace ; 
and he carried his coat on his arm. There was some- 
thing also in the jaunty carriage of the head, and in 
the easy slouch of the hat-brim, which startled Jack. 

“ I vow, it *s my obliging young man himself S ” 
he muttered through his teeth, — “or a vision of 
him ! ” 

J ust then the stranger, hearing the sound of wheels, 
cast a quick glance over his shoulder. It w 7 as the 
same face, and Jack could almost have taken his oath 
to the quid in the cheek. 

He was greatly astonished and excited. It seemed 
more like a dream than anything else, that he should 
again meet with the person who had given him so 
much trouble, so near the place where he had seen 
him first, in precisely similar hat and soiled shirt- 
sleeves, and carrying (to all appearances) the same 
coat on his arm ! 

The stranger gave no sign of the recognition being 
mutual, but stepped off upon the roadside to let the 
buggy pass. 


ANOTHER HUNT, AND HOW IT ENDED. 213 

“ How ere you?” said Jack, coming up to him, 
and drawing rein ; while Lion snuffed suspiciously at 
the rogue’s heels. 

“ All right, stranger ; how are you yourself ? ” And 
a pair of reckless dark eyes flashed saucily up at 
Jack. 

“ Better than I was that night after you ran off 
with my horse ! ” Jack replied. 

“ Glad you ’re improving. Wife on the mending 
hand ? And how are the little daisies ? Which is 
the road to Halleluia Corners ? I branch off here ; 
good day, fair stranger.” 

These words were rattled off with great volubility, 
which seemed all the greater because of their surpris- 
ing irrelevancy ; while the head, thrown gayly to oi\e 
side, balanced the quid in the bulged cheek. 

Before Jack could answer, the youth with a wild 
laugh struck off from the road, and began to walk 
fast toward the woodland. Jack called after him, — 

“ Hold on ! I want to speak with you ! ” 

“ Speak quick, then ; I ’m bound for the Kingdom, 
— will you go to glory with me ? ” the rogue shouted 
back over his shoulder, with a defiant grin, never 
slacking his pace. 

Jack gave Snowfoot a touch of the whip, reined 
out of the track, and drove after him. 

The fellow at the same time quickened his step to 
a run, and before he could be overtaken he had come 
to rough ground, where fast driving was dangerous. 

Jack pulled up unwillingly, revolving rapidly in 


214 


THE YOUNG SURVEYOR. 


his mind what he should do. Though he had re- 
covered his horse, he felt the strongest desire to have 
the thief taken and punished. Moreover, he had 
lately seen the truckman to whom the stolen animal 
was sold, and had promised to do what he could to 
help him obtain justice. 

He might have levelled his gun and threatened to 
shoot the fugitive ; but he would not have felt justi- 
fied in carrying out such a threat, and recent experi- 
ence had disgusted him with the shooting business. 

He would have jumped from the wagon, and fol- 
lowed on foot ; but, though a good runner, he was 
convinced that his heels were no match for the 
stranger’s. There was then but one thing to do. 

“ Stop, or I ’ll let the dog take you ! ” Jack yelled. 

For reply, the fugitive threw up his hand over his 
shoulder, with fingers spread and thumb pointing to- 
ward the mid -region of countenance occupied by the 
nose ; which did not, however, take the trouble to 
turn and make itself visible. 

Lion was already eager for the chase ; and Jack 
had only to give him a signal. 

“ Take care of him, Lion ! ” And away sped the 
dog. 

Fleet of foot as the fellow was, and though he now 
strained every nerve to get away, the distance be- 
tween him and the dog rapidly diminished ; and a 
hurried glance behind showed him the swift, black, 
powerful animal, coming with terrible bounds, and 
never a bark, hard at his heels. 


ANOTHER HJNT, AND IIOW IT ENDED. 215 


The thickets were near, — could he reach them 
before the dog reached him ? Would they afford him 
a refuge or a cudgel ? He threw out his quid, and 
leaned . 

Jack drove after as fast as he could, in order to 
prevent mortal mischief when Lion should bring 
down his game; for the dog, when too much in 
earnest with a foe, had an overmastering instinct for 
searching out the windpipe and jugular vein. 

The rogue had reached the edge of the woods, 
when he found himself so closely pursued that he 
seemed to have no resource but to turn and dash his 
coat into the dog’s face. That gave him an instant’s 
reprieve ; then Lion was upon him again ; and he 
had just time to leap to the low limb of a scraggy 
oak-tree, and swing his lower limbs free from the 
ground, when the fierce eyes and red tongue were 
upon the spot. 

Lion gave one leap, but missed his mark; the 
trap-like jaws snapping together with a sound which 
could not have been very agreeable to the youth 
whose dangling legs had been actually grazed by the 
passing muzzle. 

With a wistful, whining yelp, Lion gave another 
upward spring ; and this time his fangs closed upon 
something — only cloth, fortunately; but as the 
thief clambered up out of their range, it was with 
a 'very good chance for a future patch upon the leg 
of his trousers. 

Leaping from his wagon, Jack rushed to the tree. 


216 


THE YOUNG SURVEYOR. 



and found his obliging young man perched comfort- 
ably in it, with one leg over a limb*; while Lion, 


THE END OF THE CHASE. 

below, made up for his long silence by uttering fran- 
tic barks. 

“ What are you up there for ? ” said Jack. 





ANOTHER HUNT, AND HOW IT ENDED. 2 V) 

“ To take an observation,” the fellow replied, out 
of breath, but still cheerful. “ First-rate view of the 
country up here. I fancy I see a doe and a fawn 
off on the prairie ; would n’t you like a shot at 
’em ? ” 

“ I ’ve other game to look after just now ! ” Jack 
replied. 

“ Better look out for your horse ; he ’s running 
away ! ” 

“ My horse is n’t in the habit of running away 
without help. Will you come down?” 

“I was just going to invite you to come up. I ’ll 
share my lodgings with you, — give you an upper 
berth. A very good tavern ; rooms airy, fine pros- 
pect; though the table don’t seem to be very well 
supplied, and I can’t say I fancy the entrance. ‘ Sich 
gittin’ up stairs I never did see ! ’ ” 

Jack checked this flow of nonsense by shouting, 
“ Will you come down, or not ? ” 

“ Suppose not ? ” said the fellow. 

“ Then I leave the dog to guard the door of your 
tavern, and go for a warrant and a constable, to bring 
you down.” 

“ What would you have me come down for ? You 
seem to be very pressing in your attentions to a 
stranger ! ” 

“ Don’t say stranger, — you who drove the deer in 
for me ! I am anxious to pay you for that kindness. 
I want you to ride with me.” 

“ Why did n’t you say so before ? ” cried the rogue, 
10 


218 


THE YOUNG SURVEYOR. 


rolling a fresh quid in his cheek. “I always ride 
when you ask me to, don’t I ? Say, did you ever 
know me to refuse when you offered me a ride ? 
Which way are you going ? ” 

“Down through the woods,” said Jack, amused, in 
spite of himself, at the scamp’s reckless gayety. 

“Why, that’s just the way I am going! Why 
did n’t you mention it ? I never should have put up 
at this tavern if I had thought a friend would come 
along and give me a lift in his carriage. Please re- 
lieve the guard, and I’ll descend.” 

The dog was driven off, and the youth dropped 
from the branches to the ground. 

“Pick up your coat,” said Jack, “and do pretty 
much as I tell you now, or there ’ll be trouble. 
None of your tricks this time!” 

He held the reins and the gun while he made the 
fellow get into the buggy ; then took his seat, with 
the prisoner on his left and the gun on his right, 
drove on to the travelled track, and turned into the 
woods; the vigilant Lion walking close by the 
wheel. 


jack’s prisoner. 


219 


CHAPTER XXX. 
jack’s prisoner. 

Eor a second time Jack now travelled that wood, 
land road under odd circumstances ; the first occasion 
being that on which he himself had pulled in the 
shafts, while Link pushed behind. He laughed as 
he thought of that adventure, of which the present 
seemed a fitting sequel. Before, he had been obliged 
to go home without his horse ; what a triumph it 
would now be to carry home the thief! But to do 
this, great care and vigilance would be necessary; 
and he calculated all the chances, and resolved just 
what he would do, should his captive attempt to 
escape. The rogue, on the contrary, appeared con- 
tented with his lot. 

“ Young man,” said he, “ I can’t call your name, 
but let me say you improve upon acquaintance. 
This is galorious ! better by a long chalk than a 
horseback gallop without a saddle. I suppose you 
will call for me with a barouche next time ! ” 

“ At all events, I may help you to free lodgings, — 
not up in a tree, either!” Jack said, as he touched 
up Snowfoot. 

He had, of course, abandoned the idea of giving 
Mrs. Wiggett her noon-mark that day. But he could 


220 


THE YOUNG SURVEYOR. 


not think of passing the “castle” without stopping 
at the door. 

“What will Yinnie say?” thought he, with a 
thrill of anticipation. And it must be confessed that 
he felt no little pride at the prospect of showing his 
prisoner to Lord Betterson and the boys. 

Descending the long declivity, the fellow was 
strangely silent, for one so rattle-brained, until the 
“castle” appeared in sight through an opening of 
the woods. “ He ’s plotting mischief,” Jack thought. 
And when suddenly the rogue made a movement with 
his arms, Jack started, ready for a grapple. 

“ Don’t be excited ; I ’m only putting on my coat.” 

“ All right,” said Jack ; and the garment was put 
on. “ Anything else I can do for you ? ” 

“ I ’m dying with thirst ; they had nothing to 
drink at that tavern where you found me.” 

“May be we can get some water at this house,” 
Jack said. 

“ Are you acquainted here ? ” the prisoner in- 
quired, with a curious, sober face. 

“Yes, well enough to ask for a glass of water.” 
And Jack drove into the yard. 

The rogue kept on his sober face, but seemed to be 
laughing prodigiously inside. 

As Jack reined up to the door, Lill came out, 
clapped her hands with sudden surprise, and screamed, 
“ 0 mother ! ” Then Yinnie appeared, her face ra- 
diant on seeing Jack, but changing suddenly at sight 
of his companion. Mrs. Betterson followed, and. 


JACK’S PRISONER. 


221 

perceiving the faces in the buggy, uttered a cry, tot- 
tered, and clung to Yinnie’s shoulder. 

Link at the same time ran out from behind the 
house, dropped a dirty stick, wiped his hands on his 
trousers, and shouted, “ Hullo ! by sixty ! ye don’t 
say so!” while Rufe and Wad came rushing up from 
the barn. Jack had rather expected to produce a 
sensation, — not, however, until he should fairly have, 
shown his prisoner; and this premature commotion 
puzzled him. 

The rogue’s suppressed laughter was now bubbling 
freely ; a frothy and reckless sort of mirth, without 
much body of joy to it. 

“ How are ye all ? ” he cried. “ Don’t faint at 
sight of me, Aunt Carrie. This is an unexpected 
pleasure!” and he bowed gayly to Yinnie. 

“ 0 Radcliff ! you again ? and in this style ! ” said 
poor Caroline. “ Where did you come from ? ” 

“From up a tree, at last accounts. Hullo, boys! 
I ’d come down on my trotters, and hug you all 
round, but my friend here would be jealous.” 

Jack was confounded. 

“ Is this your Cousin Rad ? ” he cried, as the boys 
crowded near. “ I ’m sorry to know it, for he ’s the 
fellow who ran off with my horse. Where did you 
ever see him before, Yinnie ? ” 

“He is the one I told you about, — in Chicago,” 
said Yiunie, astonished to find her waggish acquaint- 
ance, the elegant Radcliff Betterson, and this captive 
vagabond, the same person. 


222 


THE YOUNG SURVEYOR. 


CHAPTER XXXI. 

RADCLIFF. 

Lord Betterson now came out of tlie house, calm 
and stately, but with something of the look in his 
eye, as he turned it upon his nephew, which Jack 
had observed when it menaced Peakslow at the gap 
of the fence. 

“Ah, Rad cliff! you have returned? Why don’t 
you alight?” And he touched his hat to Jack. 

“ Your nephew may tell you the reason, if he will,” 
Jack replied. 

“ The long and the short of it is this,” said Rad- 
cliff, betraying a good deal of trouble, under all his 
assumed carelessness : “ When I was on my way 
home, a few weeks ago, this young man asked me 
to drive in some deer for him. He gave me his 
horse to ride. I made a mistake, and rode him too 
far.” 

“You, Radcliff!” said Lord Betterson, sternly; 
while Mrs. Betterson went into hysterics on Vinnie’s 
shoulder, and was taken into the house. 

“We thought of Rad when you described him,” 
Rufe said to Jack. “ But we could n’t believe he 
would do such a thing.” 

“ ’T was the most natural thing in the world,” Rad 



Jack and his Jolly Prisoner 





















































KADCLIFF. 


223 


explained. “ I was coming home because I was hard 
up. I did n’t steal the horse, — he was put into my 
hands ; it was a breach of trust, that ’s all you can 
make of it. Necessity compelled me to dispose of 
him. With money in my pocket, what was the use 
of my coming home ? I took my clothes out of 
pawn, and was once more a gentleman. Money all 
gone, I spouted my clothes again, — fell back upon 
this inexpensive rig, — • took to the country, remem- 
bered I had a home, and was making for it, when 
this young man overtook me just now, and gave me 
a seat in his buggy.” 

“The matter appears serious,” said Lord Betterson. 
“Am I to understand that you have taken my 
nephew prisoner?” 

“He can answer that question,” said Jack. 

“ Well, f suppose that is the plain English of it,” 
replied Badcliff “ Come, now, Uncle Lord ! this 
ain’t the first scrape you ’ve got me out of ; fix it up 
with him, can’t you ? ” 

“It is my duty to save the honor of the name; 
but you are bent on destroying it. Will you please 
to come into the house with my nephew, and oblige 
me ? ” Betterson said to Jack. 

“ Certainly, if you wish it,” J ack replied. “ Get 
down, Badcliff. Be quiet, Lion ! I was never in so 
hard a place in my life,” he said to the boys, as they 
followed Bad and his uncle into the house. “I 
never dreamed of his being your cousin ! ” 

f ‘He’s a wild fellow, — nothing very bad about 


224 


THE YOUNG SURVEYOR. 


him, only he ’s just full of the Old Harry,” said Eufe. 
* I guess father ’ll settle it, somehow.” 

Meanwhile, Mrs. Betterson had retired to her 
room, where Yinnie was engaged, with fan and harts- 
horn, in restoring — not her consciousness, for that 
she had not lost, but her equanimity. 

“Lavinia!” she said brokenly, at intervals, “La- 
vinia dear! don’t think I intended to deceive you. 
It was, perhaps, too much the ideal Radcliff I de- 
scribed to you, — the Betterson Radcliff, the better 
Betterson Radcliff, if I may so speak ; for he is, after 
all, you know, a — but that is the agony of it ! 
The name is disgraced forever! Fan me, Lavinia 
dear ! ” 

“ I don’t see how the act of one person should dis- 
grace anybody else, even of the same name,” Yinnie 
replied. 

“ But — a Betterson ! ” groaned Caroline. “ My 
husband’s nephew ! Brought back here like a rep- 
robate ! The hartshorn, Lavinia dear ! ” 

Hard as it was freely to forgive her sister for hold- 
ing up to her so exclusively the “ideal Radcliff” in 
her conversations, Yinnie continued to apply the fan 
and hartshorn, with comforting words, until Link 
came in and said that Jack wished her to be present 
in the other room. 

“ Don’t leave me, Lavinia dear ! ” said Caroline, 
feeling herself utterly helpless without Yinnie’s sup- 
port. 

“ If we open this door between the rooms, and you 


RADCLIFF. 


225 


sit near it, while I remain by you, — perhaps that 
will be the best way,” said Yinnie. 

The door was opened, showing Jack and Ead and 
Mr. Betterson seated, and the boys standing by the 
outer door. Ead was trying hard to keep up his 
appearance of gay spirits, chucking Chokie under the 
chin, and winking playfully at Eufe and Wad. But 
Jack and Lord were serious. 

“ I have reasons for wanting you to hear this talk, 
Yinnie,” said Jack. “ I was just telling Mr. Better- 
son that you had met his nephew before, and he was 
quite surprised. It seems to me singular that you 
never told your friends here of that adventure.” 

“I suppose I know what you mean,” spoke up 
Caroline. “ And I confess that /am at fault. Lavinia 
dear did tell me and the girls of a young man beguil- 
ing her to a public-house in Chicago, and offering 
her wine ; and Cecie whispered to me that she was 
sure it must have been Badcliff ; but I could n’t, I 
would n’t believe a Betterson could be guilty of — 
Fan me, Lavinia dear ! ” 

Yinnie fanned, and Caroline went on, — 

“ ’T was I who cautioned the children against say- 
ing anything disparaging of Eadcliff’s character in 
Lavinia dear’s presence. I had such faith in the 
stock ! and now to think how I have been deluded ! 
The hartshorn, Lavinia dear ! ” 

“ Seems to me you make a pile of talk about 
trifles ! ” Badcliff said with a sneer. “ I owe an 
apology to this young lady. But she knows I meant 
10* -o 


226 


THE YOUNG SURVEYOR. 


no harm, - — only my foolish fun. As for the horse, 
the owner has got him again ; and so I don’t see but 
it ’s all right.” 

“ It ’s all right enough, as far as I am concerned,” 
said Jack. “I won’t say a word about the trouble 
and expense you put me to. But, whether taking 
my horse as you did was stealing or not, you sold 
him, you obtained money under false pretences, you 
Swindled an honest man.” 

“Well, that can’t be helped now,” said Bad cliff, 
with a scoffing laugh. “A feller is obliged some- 
times to do things that may not be exactly on the 
square.” 

“I don’t know about anybody’s being obliged to go 
off and play the gentleman (if that ’s what you call 
it), and have a good time (if there ’s any good in such 
a time), at somebody else’s expense. I call such 
conduct simply scoundrelism,” said Jack, his strong 
feeling on the subject breaking forth in plain speech 
and ringing tones. “And I determined, if I ever 
caught you, to have you punished.” 

“ O, well ! go ahead ! put it through ! indulge ! ” 
said Badcliff, folding his arms, and stretching out his 
legs with an air of easy and reckless insolence, but 
suddenly drawing up one of them, as he noticed the 
tear Lion’s teeth had made. “ Guess I can stand it 
if the others can. What do you say, Uncle Lord ? 
Give me up as a bad job, eh ? ” 

“ Hem ! ” Lord coughed, and rubbed his chin with 
his palm. “ If this sort of conduct is to continue, 


RADCLIFF. 


227 


the crisis may as well come now, I suppose, as later ; 
and, unless you give a solemn pledge to alter your 
course, I shall let it come.” 

“ 0, I ’ll give the solem’est sort of a pledge ! ” Ead- 
cliff replied. 

“ You will notice — ahem ! — a change in our fam- 
ily,” Lord went on. “ The hoys have applied them- 
selves to business, — in plain terms, gone to work. 
Although I have said little on the subject, I have 
silently observed, and I am free to confess that I 
have been gratified. Since our circumstances are 
what they are, they have done well, — I may add, 
they have done nobly.” 

“Fan me, Lavinia dear!” whispered Caroline. 

“ Hey, boys ? what ’s got into you ? ” said Eadcliff, 
really astonished. 

Lord put up his hand, to prevent the boys from 
answering, and continued, — 

“Your unusually long absence, I am persuaded, 
has had a wholesome effect. But to the presence of 
new elements in the family I attribute the better 
state of things, in a large measure.” Lord indicated 
Lavinia, by a gracious wave of the hand, adding, 
“ Though a man of few words, I am not blind, and I 
am not ungrateful.” 

This recognition of her influence, before Jack and 
the whole family, brought the quick color to Vinnie’s 
cheeks and tears to her eyes. She was surprised by 
what Lord said, and still more surprised that any 
words of his could touch her so. He had hitherto 


228 


'rtlE YOUNG SURVEYOR. 


treated her with civil, quiet reserve, and she had 
never been able to divine his secret thought of her. 
Nor had she cared much, at first, what that might 
be ; but day by day she had learned to know that 
under all his weaknesses there was something in his 
character worthy of her esteem. 

“ If you choose to fall into the new course of 
things, Badcliff, you will be welcome here, as you 
always have been. Not otherwise.” 

And again Jack was reminded of the look and 
tone with which he had seen Lord Betterson con- 
front Peakslow at the gap of the fence. 

“ Of course I ’ll fall in, head over heels,” said Bad- 
cliff, with a laugh, and a look at Vinnie, which Jack 
did not like. “ I think I shall fancy the new ele- 
ments, as you call ’em.” 

Jack started up, with sparkling eyes ; but, on an 
instant’s reflection, bridled his tongue, and settled 
down again, merely giving Vinnie a swift glance, 
which seemed to say, “If he has any more of his 
fun with you, I ’ll — ” 

“No more trifling,” said Betterson. “If you stay, 
you will come under the new regime. That means, 
in plain speech — work; we all work.” 

“ Oh ! ” gasped poor Caroline, and reached out 
helplessly to her sister. “The hartshorn, Lavinia 
dear!” 

“ I ’ll stay, and I ’ll work, — I ’ll do as the rest do,” 
said Badcliff. “ But when the Philadelphia partners 
pony up, of course I have my dividend.” 


EADCLIFF. 


229 


“ A word here/’ said Lord, “ is due to 'Our friends. 
By the Philadelphia partners, my nephew means the 
relatives who occasionally send us money. Now, as 
to his dividend : when he came into our family, it 
was with the understanding that he would be clothed 
and educated at the expense of those connections. 
Accordingly, when money has been sent to me, a 
portion has always gone to him. As soon as he gets 
money, it burns him till he goes off and squanders it. 
When it is gone, he comes home here, and waits for 
another supply.” 

Then Jack spoke up. 

“ I say, when the next supply comes, eighty dol- 
lars of it — if there ’s as much — should be paid over 
to that truckman he swindled. I insist upon that.” 

Badcliff snapped his fingers. “That’s a foolish 
way of doing business ! ” 

“Foolish or not,” cried Jack, “you shall agree 
to it.” 

“You have anticipated me,” remarked Betterson, 
with a high courtesy contrasting with Jack’s haste 
and heat. “ I was about to propose a similar arrange- 
ment. Kadcliff’s money passes through my hands. 
I will see to it, — the truckman shall be paid. Do 
you agree, Eadcliff ? If not, I have nothing more to 
urge.” 

“ Of course I agree, since I can’t help myself. But 
next time I have a horse to dispose of,” Eadcliff 
added with a derisive smile at Jack, “I shall go far- 
ther. So take care ! ” 


230 


THE YOUNG SURVEYOR. 


“No need of giving me that warning,” Jack made 
answer, rising to his feet. He went over and stood 
by Yinnie, and looked back with strong distrust upon 
the jeering Radcliff. “ I don’t know that I do right, 
Mr. Betterson ; but I ’ll leave him here, if you 
say so.” 

“ I think it best, on the whole,” Mr. Betterson 
replied. 

“0, bosh!” cried Radcliff, giving Jack a sinister 
look. “ You and I ’ll be better acquainted, some 
day ! Come, boys, show me what you ’ve been about 
lately. And, see here, Rufe, — have n’t I got a pair 
of pants about the house somewhere ? See how that 
dog tore my trousers-leg ! I ’ll pay him my compli- 
ments, too, some time!” 

As he was walking out of the house, Lion at the 
door gave a growl. Jack silenced the dog, and then 
took leave. Yinnie urged him to stay to supper. 

“ It will be ready in five minutes,” she said ; “ I 
was just going to set the table when you came.” 

But Jack replied, with a bitter smile, that he be- 
lieved his appetite would be better after a ride of a 
few miles in the open air. 

“ Look out for the scamp ! ” he whispered in her 
ear; and then, with brief good-byes to the rest, he 
sprang into the buggy, called Lion to a seat by his 
side, and drove away. 


AN IMPORTANT EVENT. 


231 


CHAPTER XXXII. 

AN IMPORTANT EVENT. 

Radcliff resumed his place in the family. But 
he soon found that his relations to it were no longer 
what they had been before the days of Vinnie and 
Jack. 

The “new elements” had produced a greater 
change than he supposed. He no longer possessed 
the boundless influence over the boys which his wild 
spirits formerly gave him. They saw him in the 
light of this last revelation of his character, and con- 
trasted his coarse foolery, once so attractive, with the 
gentle manners and cheerful earnestness of Vinnie 
and Jack; in which comparison this flower of the 
Betterson stock suffered blight. 

The boys did not take a holiday in honor of Rad’s 
return, but went steadily on with their tasks. Lord 
Betterson himself seemed suddenly to have changed 
his views of things, for he now offered to assist the 
boys in repairing the fences, for which they had 
been cutting poles in the woods. 

Rad worked a little, but, seeing how things were 
going, sulked a good deal more. He tried to be very 
gallant toward Vinnie, but her quiet dignity of man- 
ner was proof against all his pleasantries. Even 


232 


THE YOUNG SURVEYOR; 


Cecie and Lill could not somehow enjoy his jests as 
they used to ; and Caroline — there was no disguis- 
ing the fact — had ceased to view his faults through 
the golden haze of a sentimental fancy. 

So Radcliff found himself out of place, unappre- 
ciated ; and discontent filled his soul. At length an 
event occurred which blew his smouldering restless- 
ness into a flame. 

The “Philadelphia partners” were heard from. 

Rufe and Wad, who had been over to the Mills 
one day, completing their arrangements with the 
pump-maker for boring the logs of their aqueduct, 
brought home from the mail one of those envelopes 
whose post-mark and superscription always glad- 
dened the eyes of the Bettersons. 

It was from Philadelphia, and it contained a draft 
for two hundred and fifty dollars. 

One third of this sum was for Radcliff ’s “ benefit.” 

It would have been wise, perhaps, to keep from 
him the knowledge of this fact; but it would have 
been impossible. 

“A pittance, a mere pittance,” said Lord, holding 
the precious bit of paper up to the light. “ Uncle 
George could just as well have made it a thousand, 
without feeling it. However, small favors gratefully 
received.” And he placed the draft in his pocket- 
book with calm satisfaction. 

Joy overflowed the family; Caroline began to 
build fresh castles in the air; and Yinnie heard Rad- 
cliff say to the boys, — - 


AN IMPORTANT EVENT. 


233 


"You can afford to lay by now, and have a good 
time, with that money.” 

“ Radcliff Betterson ! ” cried Vinnie, “ you provoke 
me !” 

“ How so, my charmer ? ” said Rad, bowing and 
smiling saucily. 

"With your foolish talk. But I hope — yes, I 
know — the boys will pay no attention to it. To 
stop work now, and go and play, just because a little 
money has come into the house, — I should lose all 
my respect for them, if they were to do so silly a 
thing.” 

" Well, I was only joking,” said Rad. 

“We could very well spare some of your jokes,” 
Vinnie replied. 

"And me too, I suppose you think?” 

" You might be more useful to yourself and others 
than you are ; it is easy to see that.” 

" Well, give me a smile now and then ; don’t be so 
cross with a feller,” said Rad. " You don’t show me 
very much respect.” 

" It is n’t my fault ; I should be glad to show you 
more.” 

Such was about the usual amount of satisfaction 
Radcliff got from his talk with Vinnie. She was 
always "up to him,” as the boys said. 

When he walked off, and found them laughing at 
his discomfiture, he laughed too, with a fresh quid in 
his cheek, and his head on one side, but with some- 
thing not altogether happy in his mirth. 


234 


THE YOUNG SURVEYOR 


“ Uncle Lord,” said he in the evening, “ if yon ’ll 
put your name to that draft, I ’ll go over to the 
Mills in the morning and cash it for you.” 

“ Thank you, Eadcliff,” said his uncle. “ I ’ve 
some bills to pay, and I may as well go myself.” 

“ Let the bills slide, why don’t you, and get some 
good out of the money ? ” said Eadcliff. “ And see 
here, uncle, — what’s the use of paying off that 
truckman in such a hurry ? I want some of that 
money ; it was intended for me, and I ain’t going to 
be cheated out of it.” 

“As to that,” replied Lord, “you entered into a 
certain agreement, which seemed to me just; and I 
do not like now to hear you speak of being cheated, 
— you, of all persons, Eadcliff.” 

“ 0, well, I suppose you ’ll do as you like, since 
you ’ve got the thing into your hands !” And Ead- 
cliff walked sulkily out of the house. 

The next day Mr. Betterson drove over to the 
Mills, cashed the draft, made some necessary pur- 
chases, paid some bills which had been long out- 
standing, and called to hand Jack eighty dollars, on 
Eadcliff’s account, for the swindled truckman. 

Jack was off surveying with Forrest Felton, and 
was not expected home for a day or two. Mr. Bet- 
terson hardly knew what to do in that case, but 
finally concluded to keep the money, and leave Jack 
word that he had it for him. 


MRS. WIGGETT’S “NOON-MARK. 1 


235 


CHAPTER XXXIII. 

MRS. WIGGETT’S “NOON-MARK.” 

Jack returned home, unexpectedly, that night. 
He jumped for joy when told of Mr. Betterson’s call 
and the message he had left. The promise of money 
due himself could not have pleased him so much as 
the prospect now presented of justice being done to 
the truckman. 

He felt some concern, it must be owned, lest the 
money should, after all, be diverted from its course ; 
he determined, therefore, to act promptly in the 
matter, and go to Long Woods the next day. 

He and Forrest were laying out town lots some- 
where up the river; and he was closely occupied 
all the next forenoon and a part of the afternoon 
with his calculations and drawings. 

At last he leaped up gayly, with that sense of 
satisfaction and relief which comes from the con- 
sciousness of work well done. 

He harnessed Snowfoot, put his compass into the 
buggy, thinking he would give Mrs. Wiggett her 
noon-mark this time without fail, winked assent at 
Lion, eager to accompany him, and drove off with a 
feeling of enjoyment, to which the thought of some 
one he was going to meet gave a wonderful zest. 


236 


THE YOUNG SURVEYOR. 


As it was getting late in the day when he reached 
the settlement, he stopped only a moment at the 
“castle,” to speak with Vinnie, and leave word that 
he would call and see Mr. Betterson on his way 
hack; then drove on to Mr. Wiggett’s log-cabin. 

His reception there was most cordial, especially 
when it was found that lie had come with his com- 
pass, prepared to make the noon-mark. 

“ House don’t front no sort of a way,” said the old 
man ; “ and I reckon you ’ll have to give us a kin’ 
of a slantin’diclar line from ’bout this yer direction,” 
indicating a wood-pile by the road. 

The little Wiggetts meanwhile thronged the door- 
way, staring at Jack and his strange machine, and 
their old acquaintance, the dog. 

“ Cl’ar the kitchen, you young uns ! ” the mother 
stormed after them, cuffing right and left. “Noon- 
mark’ll cut ye plumb in tew, ’f ye don’t scatter! 
It ’s cornin’ into this yer door, like it was a bullet 
from pap’s rifle ! ” 

The grimy faces and bare legs “ scattered ” ; while 
Mrs. Wiggett called to Jack, — 

“ How long ’fore ye gwine to sliute that ar thing 
off ? ’Low I ougliter scoop up a little fust.” 

“ Scoop up ? ” Jack repeated, not quite taking her 
meaning. 

“ Bight smart o’ dirt on the floor yer ; it ’ll be in 
your way, I reckon.” 

“Not at all,” said Jack. “ My line will cut 
through; and you can scoop down to it, at your 


MRS. wiggett’s "noon-mark.” 237 

leisure. I must get you to remove these iron 
wedges, Mr. Wiggett ; the needle won’t work with 
so much iron near.” 

The wedges removed, the needle settled ; and 
Jack, adjusting the sights of his compass to a nortli- 
and-south line, got Mr. Wiggett to mark its bear- 
ings for him, with a chalk pencil, on the floor of the 
open doorway. 

“ All creation ! ” shrieked the woman, suddenly 
making a pounce at the kneeling old man ; “ we 
don’t want a noon-mark thar, cl’ar away from the 
jamb, ye fool ! We want it whur the shadder o’ the 
jamb ’ll hit it plumb at noon.” 

The old man looked up from his position on “ all- 
fours,” and parried her attack with his lifted hand. 

“ Ye mout wait a minute ! ” he said ; “ then you ’ll 
see if me an’ this yer youngster ’s both fools. I had 
a lesson that larnt me onct that he knows better ’n 
I dew what he ’s about ; an’ I ’lowed, this time, I ’d 
go by faith, an’ make the marks ’thout no remarks 
o’ my own.” 

“ The line will come just where you want it, Mrs. 
Wiggett,” Jack assured her, hiding a laugh behind 
his compass. 

Having got the old man to mark two points on 
his north-and-south line, one at the threshold and 
the other a little beyond, Jack put his rule to them 
and drew a pencil-line; Mrs. Wiggett watching with 
a jealous scowl, not seeing that her mark was coming 
where she wanted it, — "right ag’in the jamb,” — 
after all. 


238 


THE YOUNG SURVEYOR 


Then, by a simple operation, which even she un- 
derstood, Jack surprised her. 

He first measured the distance of his line from 
the jamb. Then he set off two points, on the same 
side, at the same distance from the line, farther along 
on the floor. Then through these points he drew a 
second line, parallel to the first, and touching the 
corner of the jamb, by which the noon shadow was 
to be cast. Into this new line Jack sank his noon- 
mark with a knife. 

“ There,” said he, “ is a true noon-mark, which will 
last as long as your house does,” — a prediction 
which, by a very astonishing occurrence, was to be 
proved false that very afternoon. 

“I reckon the woman is satisfied,” said the old 
man ; “ anyhow, I be ; an’ now what ’s the tax for 
this yer little scratch on the floor ? ” 

“Not anything, Mr. Wiggett.” 

“ Hey ? ye make noon-marks for folks ’thout 
pay?” 

“That depends. Sometimes, when off surveying, 
I ’m hailed at the door of a house, and asked for a 
noon-mark. I never refuse it. Then, if convenient, 
I take my pay by stopping to dinner or supper. But 
I never accept money.” 

“ Sartin ! ” cried the old man. “ Yer, ol’ woman ! ” 
(it must be remembered that Mrs. Wiggett was forty 
years younger than her husband), “fly round, — 
make things hum, — git up a supper as suddent as 
ye kin, an’ ax our friend yer. Whur ’s that Sal ? ” 


MRS. WIGGETT’s “ NOON-MARK.’ 


239 


Mrs. Wiggett, who had appeared all pride and 
sunny smiles regarding her noon-mark ( particularly 
after hearing it was not to be paid for), fell suddenly 
into a stormy mood, and once more began to cuff the 
children right and left. 

Jack hastened to relieve her mind by saying that 
Mr. Wiggett had quite mistaken his meaning ; that 
he had an engagement which must deprive him of 
the pleasure of taking supper with her and her in- 
teresting family. Thereupon she brightened again. 
The old man shook him warmly by the hand ; and 
Jack, putting his compass into the buggy, drove back 
up the valley road. 

Yinnie had told him that the Betterson boys were 
cutting logs for their aqueduct; and hearing the 
sound of an axe on his way back, Jack tied Snow- 
foot to a sapling by the road, and went up into the 
woods to find them. 

“ What ! you coming too, Lion ? ” he said, after he 
had gone several rods. “ Did n’t I tell you to 
watch ? Well, I believe I did n’t. Never mind ; 
Snowfoot is hitched.” 

He found Rufe and Wad cutting trees with great 
industry, having determined to have the logs laid 
from the spring to the house without delay. 

“ We ’ve taken the farm of father, as you sug- 
gested,” said Wad. “ He is helping us do the fall 
ploughing while we get out our logs. He and Link 
are at it with the oxen, over beyond the house, now.” 

“And where’s that precious cousin of yours?” 


240 


THE YOUNG SUKVEYOK. 


“ I believe he has gone to the house to see if sup- 
per is about ready,” said Eufe. “He’s smart to 
work, when he does take hold, but his interest 
does n’t hold out, and the first we know, he is off.” 

Jack stopped and talked with the boys about their 
water-works for about half an hour. Then Ead came 
up through the woods, by way of the spring, and 
announced that supper was ready, greeting Jack with 
a jeering laugh. 

“ You ’ll take tea with us, of course,” Eufe said to 
Jack. 

“I suppose your father will be at the house by 
this time ; I ’ll stop and see him, at any rate,” was 
Jack’s reply. 

Eufe went with him down through the woods to 
where Snowfoot was left hitched. As they were 
getting into the buggy, Eufe noticed Zeph Peakslow 
coming out of some bushes farther down the road, 
and going towards home. 

“ See him slink off ? ” said Eufe. “ He ’s afraid of 
me yet ; but he need n’t be, — I ’ve promised Vinnie 
not to meddle with him.” 

Then, on the way home, Eufe surprised Jack by 
telling him how Yinnie had made acquaintance with 
the Peakslow family, and how Mrs. Peakslow, taking 
advantage of her husband’s absence from home, had 
called on the Bettersons, under pretence of returning 
Yinnie’s box of salve. 

Mr. Betterson had not yet come to the house ; and 
Jack, having hitched Snowfoot to an oak-tree, and 


MRS. WIGGETT’S “ NOON-MARK.” 241 

told of liis business with the Wiggetts, asked Yinnie 
and her sister if they would not like a noon-mark on 
their floor. “ It will be a good thing to set your clock 
by when it goes wrong,” he explained. 

Yinnie gladly accepted the offer. 

“And, O Jack !” she said, “ I wish you would give 
Mrs. Peakslow one too.” 

“ I would, certainly,” said Jack ; “ but ” (his pride 
coming up) “ would n’t it look as if I was anxious to 
make my peace with Peakslow ? ” 

“Never mind that; I think even he will appre- 
ciate the kindness. I wish you would!” 

“I will — to please you,” said Jack. “This after- 
noon, if I have time.” And he went to the buggy 
for his compass. 

He fumbled in the blanket under the seat, looked 
before and behind, and uttered an exclamation. 

“What ’s the trouble, Jack?” Eufe asked. 

“It is gone! my compass is gone!” said Jack. 
'‘Somebody has taken it.” 

“That Zeph — we saw him, you know!” said 
Eufe. “ It ’s one of his tricks.” 

“I’ll overhaul that Zeph!” said Jack; “I’ll 
teach him to play his tricks on me!” 

Yinnie ran after him as he was starting off. 

“ Jack ! don’t be hasty or unkind ! ” 

“ 0 no ! I won’t be unkind,” said Jack, with some- 
thing bitter in his laugh. “ I just want my compass, 
that ’s all.” And he hurried down the road. 


11 


p 


242 


THE YOUNG SURVEYOR. 


CHAPTER XXXIY. 

THE STRANGE CLOUD. 

Jack’s call on the Peakslows was brief and unsat- 
isfactory. He returned to the “ castle ” without his 
compass, and looking flushed and disturbed. 

“ I did n’t accuse Zeph of stealing,” said Jack, fear- 
ful of being blamed by Vinnie. “ They were at sup- 
per; and I just said, ‘Zeph, my boy, what did you 
do with my compass ? ’ He denied having touched 
it. I explained. Great commotion. Mamma Peak- 
slow looked frightened out of her wits, and papa 
blazed away at me like a seventy-four-gun ship. In 
short, you will have to wait for your noon-mark, Mrs. 
Betterson. So will Mrs. Peakslow. I didn’t tell 
her I was going to make her one, if Zeph had n’t 
stolen my compass.” 

“But you don’t know he stole it,” said Yinnie. 

“We don’t know that he and Dud put rubbish in 
our spring,” Rufe made answer for Jack, “ and yet we 
know it as well as we know anything we don’t know.” 

“ I can’t tell what I was thinking of,” said Jack, 
“to leave any property of mine unguarded, within 
reach of the Peakslows. Lion was up in the woods 
with me before I knew it.” 

“ Where are you going now ? ” Yinnie asked. 


THE STRANGE CLOUD. 


243 


"To look for my compass in the bushes. Zeph 
must have hid it somewhere, for he did n’t have it 
when we saw him.” 

" Wait till after supper, and I will go with you,” 
said Bufe. "Father is here now.” 

Mr. Betterson was coming up from the stable, 
accompanied by Badcliff. Bad had hastened to way- 
lay him, and make a last appeal for the money 
which he knew Jack was waiting to receive. He 
talked and gesticulated earnestly; but Lord shook 
his head and compressed his lips with great firmness, 
whereupon Bad, instead of coming to supper with 
the rest, wandered sulkily away. 

When Mr. Betterson had washed his hands and 
face, and brushed his hair, and put on his threadbare 
black coat and frayed stock, the family sat down at 
the table. Jack waited unwillingly, and soon ex- 
cused himself, saying he must look for his compass 
before dark. 

"I ’ll attend to our truckman’s little matter when 
I come back,” he said, and hurried away. 

Link jumped up from the table and went with 
him ; Bufe and Wad promising to follow as soon as 
they were through with their supper. 

Careful search was made all about the roadside 
bushes where the wagon had been partially concealed 
when the compass was taken. Lion was also set to 
hunt. But all in vain. Some faint footprints were 
found, but Jack could not be sure that they were not 
either his own or Bufe’s. 


244 


THE YOUNG SURVEYOR. 


“ Lion don’t know what we are looking for ; he ’s 
after rabbits,” said Link. “ Was this all the compass 
you had ? ” 

“ The only surveyor’s compass ; and the worst of it 
is, ’t was a borrowed one. It belongs to Forrest Fel- 
ton. He has a theodolite which we use for fine 
work ; and I ’ve a little pocket-compass, given me by 
an old lady a few years ago. I would n’t have lost 
this for twice its value, — it ’s a most exasperating 
trick!” Jack muttered. “And now it is suddenly 
growing dark.” 

It was very suddenly growing very dark. A 
strange cloud was blackening the sunset sky. “ Did 
you ever see anything so funny ? ” said Link. 

“ It is like the lower half of an immense balloon, 
the top spreading out,” said Jack. “See that long, 
hanging, pear-shaped end ! ” 

“ I wonder if the folks at the house see it ! ” Link 
exclaimed, growing excited. “It looks like an ele- 
phant’s trunk ! By sixty, it ’s growing ! ” 

“It’s moving this way,” said Jack. “Fast, too! 
and roaring, — hear it ? There ’s an awful storm 
coming ! ” 

“ Oh ! ” cried Link, “ see the lightning-forks ! It 
will be here in a jiffy.” 

The “elephant’s trunk,” which had seemed to be 
feeling its way up the valley, now swung toward the 
line of timber; the roar which accompanied it be- 
came deafening ; and suddenly the cloud, and all the 
air about it, seemed filled with whirling and flying 


THE STRANGE CLOUD. 


245 


objects, like the broken boughs and limbs of trees. 
It was like some living monster, vast, supernatural, 
rushing through the sky, and tearing and tramp- 
ling the earth with fury. The mysterious swinging 
movement, the uproar, the gloom, the lightnings, 
were appalling. And now Lion set up a fearful, 
ominous howl. 

“ A whirlwind !” Jack exclaimed, shrieking to 
make himself heard. "I must go to my horse.” 

“ Let ’s put for the house ! ” Link yelled. 

But hardly had they reached the road when the 
storm was upon them. 

Shortly after Jack and Link had left the table, 
Lord Betterson gave Rufus a small key, and told him 
to bring a certain pocket-book from the till of the 
family chest in the next room. 

“We will have our friend’s eighty dollars ready 
for him, against his return,” Lord said ; and, counting 
out the money, he placed it under the pocket-book, 
beside his plate. 

Rufe and Wad were now ready to go and help 
Jack search for his compass ; but a discussion which • 
had been going on at intervals, ever since the draft 
came, was now renewed, and they stopped to take 
part in it. 

“ If I am going to get out to Divine service again, 
I must have a silk dress,” said Caroline. “ And, Mr. 
Betterson, you need a new suit ; and you know — we 
all know — nothing becomes you but broadcloth, and 
the finest broadcloth. What do you think, Lavinia 
dear ? ” 


246 


THE YOUNG SURVEYOR. 


“ I am sure broadcloth is becoming to him,” Yinnie 
replied quietly. “ And I should like to see you come 
out in silk. And Cecie and Lilian need new things. 
But — how much of the two hundred and fifty dol- 
lars is left, Mr. Betterson ? ” 

“ Deducting BadclifTs share, one hundred and 
twenty odd dollars,” said Lord, touching the pocket- 
book by his plate. 

“One hundred and twenty dollars will go but a 
little way, in a family where so many things are 
absolutely needed ! ” said Yinnie. “It seems to me 
I should want to get this room and your room plas- 
tered, the first thing, — merely for comfort, in the 
cold weather that is coming.” 

“And carpeted, Lavinia dear,” simpered Caroline. 

“ And if the house is ever to be painted,” spoke up 
Bufe, “it must be done soon. It won’t be worth 
painting if it is neglected much longer.” 

“And we need so many things in the kitchen!” 
said Lill. “Yinnie knows it, but she won’t say any- 
thing.” 

“And lots of things on the farm,” said Wad. “If 
Bufe and I are going to do anything, we must have 
conveniences. The idea of having such a house as 
this, and nothing but a miserable log-barn and 
stable ! ” 

“We can’t build a new barn for a hundred and 
twenty dollars,” said Mr. Betterson. “And we can’t 
buy farming tools, and kitchen utensils, and carpets, 
and silk, and broadcloth, and tea and sugar, and 


THE STRANGE CLOUD. 


247 


clothing for the children, and paint and plaster the 
house, all with so limited a sum. The question then 
arises, just what shall we do with the money?” 

“O dear! just a little money like that is only an 
aggravation!” Caroline sighed, discouraged. “And 
I had hoped some of it would be left for Lavinia 
dear; she deserves it if anybody does.” 

“ O, never mind me,” Vinnie replied. “ However, 
if I might suggest — ” 

But the family had been so long deciding this 
question, that Fortune seemed now to take it out 
of their hands, and decide it for them. 

It suddenly grew dark, and an outcry from the 
boys interrupted Yinnie. The tornado was coming. 

All rose, save Cecie, — who remained seated where 
she had been placed at the table, — and pressed to 
the door and windows. 

The baby wakened in the next room, and began to 
cry, and Caroline went to take it up. The boys 
rushed out of the house. Yinnie turned pale and 
asked, “Where are they? Jack and Link!” 

“As well off as they would be here probably,” 
replied Lord Betterson. “Shut doors and windows 
fast. That horse should have been taken care of.” 

“ Jack would n’t let us put him up. 1 11 do it 
now,” cried Bufe. 

But he had hardly begun to undo the halter, when 
he saw the utter impossibility of getting the horse 
to the stable before the storm would be upon them. 
So, to prevent Snowfoot from breaking away and dash- 


248 


THE YOUNG SURVEYOR. 


ing the buggy to pieces, he determined to leave him 
tied to the tree, and stand by his head, until the 
first whirl or rush should have passed. This he 
attempted to do ; and patted and encouraged the 
snorting, terrified animal, till he was himself flung 
by the first buffet of the hurricane back against the 
pillar of the porch, where he clung. 

“ Oh ! what is that ? ” screamed Lill, watching with 
Yinnie from the window. 

Some huge, unwieldy object had risen and rolled 
for an instant in the dim air, over Peakslow’s house, 
then disappeared as suddenly. 

At the same time Jack and Link appeared, half 
running, half blown by the tempest up the road. 
Vinnie watched them from the window, and saw the 
enormous sloping pillar of dust and leaves, and torn 
boughs, whirling above their heads, and overwhelm- 
ing everything in its roaring cloud. 

The last she remembered was J ack and Link dart- 
ing by the corner of the house, and Snowfoot tugging 
at his halter. Then a strange electric thrill shot 
through her, the house shook with a great crash, and 
all was dark. 


The Tornado Coming 
















































‘ 
















PEAIvSLOW IN A TIGHT PLACE. 


249 


CHAPTER XXXY. 

PEAKSLOW IN A TIGHT PLACE. — CECIE. 

The storm could not have been two minutes in 
passing. Then it suddenly grew light, the tempest 
lulled, the heavens cleared, and in not more than ten 
minutes the sunset sky was smiling again, a sea of 
tranquil gold, over the western woods. 

Fortunately, only the skirt of the storm had swept 
over Betterson’s house, doing no very serious dam- 
age. 

When Vinnie looked again from the window, she 
saw Snowfoot, still tied by the halter, standing with 
drooping head and tail, wet with rain. Jack, hat in 
hand, his hair wildly tumbled, was already at the 
horse’s head, laughing excitedly, and looking back 
at Rufe and Link, who were coming to his side. 
The buggy, he noticed, had been whirled half-way 
round by the wind, so that the rear end was turned 
toward the porch. 

Through it all, Till had clung in terror to Vinnie, 
whose arms were still about her. Cecie sat in her 
chair by the supper-table, white and speechless from 
the electric shock which all had felt, and she more 
sensibly than the rest. Caroline was in the next 
room with the child, whose cries, for a while drowned 

li* 


250 


THE YOUNG SURVEYOR. 


in the terrible uproar, now broke forth again, strenu- 
ous and shrill. Mr. Betterson, holding the frightened 
Chokie, opened the door, and calmly asked the boys 
if they were hurt. 

"We are all right, I guess,” cried Bufe. "Wad 
put for the barn, to make room for the horse and 
buggy, which I did n’t have time to get there. I 
don’t know where Bad is.” 

Wad now appeared ; and at the same time the 
cattle, started homeward by the storm, came canter- 
ing down the woodland road, with the rattling cow- 
bell, and ran for refuge to the barn-yard. 

" The big oak behind the house, there, — have you 
seen it ? ” cried Wad. " It ’s twisted off. And 
where ’s the well-curb ? ” 

"That flew to pieces, and the boards went up 
into the air like kites, — I saw them,” said Link. 
" Where ’s the dog ? ” 

“ He ’s in the bushes, or under a log somewhere,” 
Jack replied. “He was shot at once, with a gun 
held close to his head, — luckily, there was no lead 
in it. For a long time he was afraid of a gun; and 
thunder, or any big noise, frightens him even now.” 

" Some of our fences look pretty flat, — rails tum- 
bled every which way ! ” said Bufe. “ A good deal 
of damage must have been done south of us.” 

"Something looks odd over there toward Peak- 
slow’s, — what is it?” cried Link. 

"Some of the tree-tops by the road have been 
lopped off,” replied Jack. 


PEAKSLOW IN A TIGHT PLACE. 251 

“ That is n’t all,” said Lord Betterson. “ Sure as 
fate, something has happened to Peakslow’s build- 
ings.” 

“ That is what I saw ! ” Yinnie exclaimed. “ Some- 
thing turned over in the air like the roof of a house.” 

“I thought just now I heard cries in that direc- 
tion,” said Jack. “ Hark a moment ! ” 

“ There comes somebody,” said Bufe, as a girl of 
twelve years, barefoot, bonnetless, wild with fright, 
came running up the road. “ It ’s ’Lecty Ann ! ” 

Out of breath, almost out of her wits, the girl ran 
as far as the door-yard fence, then stopped, as if un- 
able or afraid to go farther, caught hold of the pick- 
ets, and, putting her pale face between them, gasped 
out something which nobody could understand. 

“ What is it ? — what ’s the matter ? ” cried Jack, 
advancing toward her. 

“ House — blowed down — covered up ! ” was all 
she could articulate. 

“ Who is covered up ? ” 

“ Don’t know — some of the folks — pa, I guess.” 

Jack did not stop to hear more ; but, fired with a 
generous impulse to aid the unfortunate, whoever 
they might be, gave one. backward look, threw up 
his hand as a signal, shouted “ Help, boys ! ” ran to 
a length of fence which the wind had thrown down, 
bounded over like a deer, and was off. 

Yinnie followed ; but was soon overtaken by Mr. 
Betterson and the boys, who passed her, as if run- 
ning a race. Then she heard screams behind ; and 


252 


THE YOUNG SURVEYOR. 


there was Chokie, sprawling over the prostrate fence, 
which he had rashly taken, in his eagerness to keep 
up with Lill. 

By the time Chokie was extricated Mrs. Betterson 
appeared, babe in arms, tottering out of the door, 
and hastening, in the excitement of the moment, to 
learn what dreadful catastrophe had overtaken their 
neighbors. 

“ Stay with Arthur and your mother,” Yinnie said 
to Lill ; “I may do something to help.” And away 
she sped. 

’Lecty Ann, met by Mrs. Betterson at the gate, 
was now able to tell more of her story; and so 
strange, so tragical it seemed, that Caroline forgot all 
about her ill health, the baby in her arms, and Cecie 
left alone in the house, and brought up the rear of 
the little procession, — Lill and ’Lecty Ann and 
Chokie preceding her down the road. 

They had not gone far, when Lion came out of the 
woods, with downcast ears and tail, ashamed of his 
recent cowardly conduct. And so, accompanied by 
the dog and the children, — Lill lugging the baby at 
last, — Caroline approached the scene of the dis- 
aster. 

The whole force of the tornado seemed to have 
fallen upon Peakslow’s buildings. The stable was 
unroofed, and the barn had lost a door. 

The house had fared still worse : it was — even as 
’Lecty Ann had said — almost literally “ blowed 
down.” 


PEAKSLOW IN A TIGHT PLACE. 


253 


It had consisted of two parts, — a pretty substan- 
tial log-cabin, which dated back to the earliest days 
of the settlement, and a framed addition, called a 
lean-to, or “linter.” The roof of the old part had 
been lifted, and tumbled, with some of the upper 
logs, a mass of ruins, over upon the linter, which 
had been crushed to the ground by the weight. 

Mrs. Peakslow and the girls and younger children 
w r ere in the log-house at the time ; and, marvellous as 
it seemed, all had escaped serious injury. 

The boys were in the field with their father, and 
had run a race with the tornado. The tornado beat. 
Dud was knocked down within a few rods of the 
house. Zeph was blown up on a stack of hay, and 
lodged there ; the stack itself — and this was one of 
the curious freaks of the whirlwind — being unin- 
jured, except that it was canted over a little, and 
ruffled a good deal, as if its feathers had been stroked 
the wrong way. 

Mr. Peakslow was ahead of the boys; and they 
thought he must have reached the linter. 

Zeph, slipping down from his perch in the hay- 
stack, as soon as the storm had passed, and seeing 
the house in ruins, and his mother and sisters strug- 
gling to get out, had run screaming for help down 
the road toward Mr. Wiggett’s. Dud remained ; and 
by pushing from without, while the imprisoned fam- 
ily lifted and pulled from within, helped to move a 
log which had fallen down against the closed door, 
and so aided the escape from the house, 


254 


THE YOUNG SURVEYOR. 


’Lecty Ann ran to the nearest neighbor’s up the 
river. The rest stayed by the ruins ; and there Lord 
Betterson and Jack — the earliest on the spot — 
found them, a terrified group, bewildered, bewailing, 
gazing hopelessly and helplessly at the unroofed 
cabin and crushed linter, and calling for “Pa.” 

“ Where is your husband, Mrs. Peakslow ? ” cried 
Jack. 

“ 0, I don’t know where he is, ’thout he ’s there ! ” 
said the poor woman, with a gesture of despair to- 
ward the ruined linter. 

“This rubbish must be removed,” said Lord Bet- 
terson. “ If friend Peakslow is under it, he can’t be 
taken out too soon.” 

And with his own hands he set to work, display- 
ing an energy of will and coolness of judgment which 
would have astonished Jack, if he had not once be- 
fore seen something of what was in the man. 

Jack and the boys seconded their father ; and now 
Dud came and worked side by side with Wad and 
Bufe. 

A broken part of the roof was knocked to pieces, 
and the rafters were used for levers and props. The 
main portion of the roof was next turned over, and 
got out of the way. Then one by one the logs were 
removed; all hands, from Lord Betterson down to 
Link, working like heroes. 

Meanwhile, Vinnie did what she could to aid and 
comfort Mrs. Peakslow ; and Caroline and her little 
company came and looked on. 


PEAK SLOW IN A TIGHT PLACE. 


255 


Mr. Wiggett also arrived, with Zeph, and helped 
get away the last of the logs. 

Under the logs was the crushed shell of the linter ; 
and all looked anxiously, to see what was under that. 

A good many things were under it, — pots and 
kettles, wash-tubs, milk-pans (badly battered), churn 
and cheese-press, bed and trundle-bed, — but no 
Peakslow. 

It was a disappointment, and yet a relief, not to 
find him there, after all. But where was he ? Dud 
ran back to the field, to look for him ; while the 
others rested from their labors. 

“Did the wind do you much damage, Mr. Wig- 
gett ? ” Lord inquired. 

“Not so much as it mout,” replied the old man. 
“ It was mighty suddent. Banged if I knowed what 
in seven kingdoms was a-gwine to happen. It roared 
and bellered that orful, I did n’t know but the etar- 
nal smasli-up had come.” 

“ It must have passed pretty near your house, — I 
saw it swing that way,” said Jack. 

“ Wal, I reckon you ’re right thar, young man. It 
jest took holt o’ my cabin, an’ slewed one corner on ’t 
around about five or six inches ; an’ done no more 
damage, in partic’lar, fur ’s I can diskiver ; only, of 
course, it discomfusticated that ar’ noon-mark. I left 
the ol’ woman mournin’ over that ! ” 

Jack laughed, and promised to replace the noon- 
mark. 

“ There ’s Dud a-yelling ! ” said Link. 


256 


THE YOUNG SURVEYOR. 


The roof of the shed — which must have been the 
object Vinnie saw rise and turn in the air — had 



PEAKSLOW REArrEARS. 


been taken off very neatly, with the two gable pieces, 
whirled over once or more, and then landed gently, 
right side up with care, on the edge of the potato- 



PEAKSLOW IN A TIGHT PLACE. 


257 


patch, two or three rods away. Dud, hunting for his 
father, passed near it, and heard stifled cries come 
from under it. He was yelling, indeed, as Link said. 

In a moment a dozen feet rushed to the spot, and 
a dozen hands laid hold of one side of the roof, under 
which Jack thrust a lever. Some lifted on the lever, 
while some lifted on the edge of the roof itself ; and 
out crawled — bushy head and hooked nose fore- 
most — the shaggy shape of the elder Peakslow. 

The roof was let down again as soon as Peakslow’s 
legs were well from under it, and a wondering group 
— men, hoys, women, and children — gathered round 
to see if he was hurt. 

“Wal!” said Peakslow, getting upon his feet, giv- 
ing his clothes a brush with his broad hand, and 
staring about him, “ this is a mighty perty piece of 
business ! Did n’t none on ye hear me call ? ” 

“Did you call?” said Mrs. Peakslow, trembling 
with joy and fright. 

“ Call ? ” echoed Peakslow, feeling his left shoulder 
with his right hand. “ I believe I b’en callin’ there 
for the last half-hour. What was ye knockin’ that 
ruf to pieces for ? I could hear ye, an’ see ye, an’ I 
wanted to put a stop to ’t. Had n’t the wind dam- 
aged me enough, but you must pitch in?” 

“ We thought you were under the ruins,” Mr. Bet- 
terson replied with dignity. 

“ Thought I was under the ruins ! What made ye 
think that ? ” growled Peakslow. 

“ I thought so — I told them so,” Mrs. Peakslow 

Q 


258 


THE YOUNG SURVEYOR. 


explained ; while Lord Betterson walked away with 
calm disgust. 

“Ye might ’a’ knowed better ’n that! Here I was 
under this ruf all the time. It come over on to me 
like a great bird, knocked me down with a flop of its 
wing, — mos’ broke my shoulder, I believe ; an’ when 
I come to myself, and peeked through a crack, there 
was a crew knockin’ the ruf o’ the house to flinders. 
I was too weak to call very loud, but, if you ’d cared 
much, I should think ye might ’a’ heard me. Look 
a’ that house, now ! look a’ that shed ! It ’s the 
blastedest luck ! ” 

Jack could n’t help smiling. Peakslow turned 
upon him furiously. 

“ You here ? So ye think my boy ’s a thief, do 
ye?” 

“ Come, Lion ! come, boys ! ” said Jack, and started 
to follow Mr. Betterson, without more words. 

“ Come here and ’cuse my boy o’ stealin’ ! ” said 
Peakslow, turning, and looking all about him, as if 
he had hardly yet regained his senses. “ I had a hat 
somewheres. Hundred dollars — no, nor two hun- 
dred — won’t pay the damage done to me this day.” 

“But the children, they are all safe,” said Mrs. 
Peakslow, “and we ought to be thankful.” 

“ Thankful ! Look a’ that linter ! Three hundred 
won’t do it ! ” 

“ 0 pa ! ” cried Zeph, “ you ’ve got a great gash on 
the back o’ your head ! ” 

“Never mind the gash,” said Peakslow, putting up 


TEAKSLOW IN A TIGHT PLACE. 


259 


liis hand. “ That ’ll heal itself. Holes in the build- 
in’s won’t.” 

Yinnie meanwhile conferred with Jack and Mr. 
Betterson, as they were about going away ; and also 
called her sister, and afterward Mrs. Peakslow, to the 
consultation. 

“ 0, I don’t know, Lavinia dear ! ” said Caroline in 
great distress of mind. 

But Lord Betterson spoke out manfully, — 

“ Lavinia is right. Mrs. Peakslow, we have plenty 
of spare room in our house, which you are welcome 
to till you can do better.” 

“ 0 Mr. Betterson ! ” the poor woman sobbed out, 
quite overcome by this unexpected kindness, "you 
are too good ! ” 

“ I beg your pardon,” replied Lord Betterson, in 
his most gracious manner. “ We wish simply to do 
as we might wish neighbors to do by us under similar 
circumstances. Our boys will help yours get your 
things over to my house, — whatever you want, Mrs. 
Peakslow.” 

Lord did not much mind the woman’s outburst of 
tears and thanks ; but when he observed the look of 
admiration and gratitude in Vinnie’s deep eyes, fixed 
upon him, he felt an unaccustomed thrill. 

Mrs. Peakslow went weeping back to her husband. 

"I am sorry you spoke as you did,” she said. 
“We all thought you was under the linter; and 
they was all workin’ so hard — as if they had been 
our best friends — to get you out.” 


260 


TIIE YOUNG SURVEYOR. 


“ Best friends!” repeated Peakslow, with a snort 
of angry contempt. 

“ Yes, pa ; and now, — will you believe it ? — now 
that we have n’t a ruf to our heads, they offer us 
shelter in their house ! ” 

“ In the castle ? — huh ! ” sneered Peakslow. “ I 
never thought ’t would come to that ! ” 

“ Where else can we go ? ” said Mrs. Peakslow. 
“ It ’s ’most night, — nights are beginnin’ to be cold, 
— and think o’ the children ! ’T will be weeks, I 
s’pose, ’fore ye can rebuild.” 

“ If I could n’t rebuild in all etarnity, I would n’t 
set foot in Lord Betterson’s castle ! ” said Peakslow. 
He looked again at the ruined house, then at the 
children, and added : “ Me an’ the boys, we can 

stop in the stable, or dig holes in the stack, to make 
ourselves comf ’table. Do what you ’re a min’ ter, 
for the rest. But don’t say I told ye to ask or accept 
a favor of them.” 

The Bettersons, Vinnie, and Jack were waiting 
between the ruined house and the road; and Mrs. 
Betterson was saying, “ Lillie, you and I must be 
going back ; remember, we left Cecie all alone ; and 
the evening air is too chill for the baby,” when Link 
cried, — 

“ Who ’s that coming down the road ? ” 

All turned ; and Yinnie and Jack and Link ran 
out to look. They could scarcely believe their eyes. 

“ It can’t be ! ” said Yinnie. 

“ Yes, it is,” exclaimed Link ; “ it ’s her — it ’s her ! ” 


CECIE. 


261 


“ Who ? ” Caroline inquired anxiously, dreading 
some new calamity. 

“ Cecie ! Cecie, sure as the world ! ” said two or 
three at once. 

It was indeed the little invalid, who, though she 
had scarcely taken a step without help for many 
months, was actually coming down the road, walk- 
ing, and walking fast, without even the crutch she 
had sometimes tried to use ! 

She was beckoning and calling. Jack and Vinnie 
and the boys ran to meet her. She was pale and 
very much excited, and it was some time before she 
could speak coherently. 

“ Eadcliff ! ” was almost her first word. 

“What about Eadcliff? where is he?” Yinnie 
asked. 

“ Gone!” 

“ Gone where ? ” 

“I don’t know. He came into the house — he 
saw the pocket-book and money on the table — I 
told him he must n’t take them ! ” 

“ And did he ? ” said Eufe. 

“ Yes. He only laughed at me. He said his 
chance had come.” 

“ Which way did he go ? ” 

“ He drove up through the woods.” 

“Drove ?” echoed Jack. 

“ He took the horse and buggy.” 

“ My horse and buggy!” And Jack, followed by 
Lion and Eufe and Link, started up the road. 


262 


THE YOUNG SURVEYOR. 


Though shocked at Badcliff’s conduct, Yinnie 
thought less of the loss of the money, and of the 
horse and buggy, than of the seeming miracle in 
Cecie’s case. 

“ How could you walk so, Cecie ? ” 

“ I don’t know. I suppose it was the excitement. 
Strength came to me. I called, but could not make 
anybody hear, and I thought you ought to know.” 

Mr. Betterson would have carried her home in his 
arms, but she would not let him. 

“I can walk better and better! That numbness 
of my limbs is almost gone. I believe I am going 
to be cured, after all ! ” 


ON THE WAK TRAIL. 


263 


CHAPTEE XXXVI. 

“ ON THE WAR TRAIL.” 

There could be no mistake about it, — pocket- 
book and money, and horse and buggy, were gone 
with Eadcliff. 

“He has taken the road to Chicago,” said Jack, 
easily tracking the wheels after the recent rain. 
“ But he 11 find it not so easy selling the horse there 
a second time.” 

“ But he 11 spend all that money,” said Eufe. 
“ He 11 find it easy enough to do that.” 

“ I wish it was n’t night,” said Jack. “ I would 
track him ! And I will as it is. Have you a lan- 
tern ? ” 

“ Yes — 1 11 go with you ! Shall we take the mare 
and one-horse wagon ? ” 

“ If you like. But, Eufe, if you go with me, you 11 
have to travel all night. I am on the war trail ! ” 

“ I ’m with you ! ” said Eufe ; and he gave an In- 
dian war-whoop. 

Mr. Betterson, coming up, approved of this resolu- 
tion. " And, boys,” he said, “ if you should lay hands 
on Eadcliff, you may as well bring him back with 
you. We 11 try to have a more satisfactory settle- 
ment with him this time.” 


264 


THE YOUNG SURVEYOR. 


Jack left his friends to harness the mare to the 
wagon, and went on alone, with Lion and the lantern, 
up through the woods. 

For a while he had no trouble in following the 
fresh marks of hoofs and wheels over the wet ground. 
But when he reached the prairie, an unforeseen diffi- 
culty appeared. The rain had not extended so far, 
and the tracks were not easily distinguished. 

It was nearly dark when Rufe, following in the 
wagon, emerged from the woods. Lonesome and 
gloomy stretched the great prairie before him, under 
a sky of flying clouds. The insects of the autumn 
night filled the air with their shrill, melancholy 
notes. An owl hooted in the forest ; a pair of whip- 
poorwills were vociferating somewhere in the thick- 
ets ; and far off on the prairie the wolves howled. 
Now and then a rift of dark blue sky and a few 
wildly hurrying stars were visible through the flock- 
ing clouds. No other light, or sign of life, until Rufe 
descried far before him in the darkness a waving, 
ruddy gleam, and knew it was the ray from the lan- 
tern swinging in Jack’s hand. 

Driving on as fast as the mare’s somewhat decrepit 
paces would allow, he found J ack waiting for him at 
a point where the road divided, one branch taking a 
northerly direction, the other trending easterly, to- 
ward the great road to Chicago. 

“ Here ’s a puzzle,” said Jack, as Rufe drove up. 
" I ’ve tracked the fellow as far as here, notwith- 
standing he has tried the trick of driving off on the 


ON THE WAR TRAIL. 


265 


prairie in two or three places. But here, instead of 
taking the direct road to Chicago, as we supposed, lie 
lias taken this by-road, if my eyes are good for any- 
thing. Lion says I am right ; for I believe I • ve 
made him understand we are hunting Snowfoot.” 

Bufe jumped down from the wagon, and saw by 
the light of the lantern the imperfect and yet pecul- 
iar marks of Snowfoot’s rather smooth-worn shoes, 
and of the narrow wheel-tires. 

“ It is a game of his to mislead us,” said Bufe. “ I 
believe if we follow him on to where this by-road 
crosses the main road, we shall find he has there 
turned off toward the city.” 

“ Go ahead, Lion ; find Snowfoot ! ” cried Jack, and 
jumped into the wagon with Bufe. 

They got on as fast as they could ; but the pursuit 
was necessarily slow, for not only was the mare a 
creature of very indifferent speed, but the boys found 
it useful to stop every now and then and examine 
the tracks by the light of the lantern. 

“ The dog is right ; and we are right so far, sure ! ” 
said Jack, after they had proceeded about half a mile 
in this w r ay. “Slow and sure is our policy. We Ve 
all the fall before us, Bufe ; and we ’ll overhaul your 
pretty cousin, unless something breaks. Now, drive 
straight on to the main road, and we ’ll see what we 
can discover there.” 

To the surprise of both again, the fugitive, instead 
of turning cityward, kept the northerly road. 

“ He is cunning,” said Bufe. “ He knows Chicago 
12 


266 


THE YOUNG SURVEYOR. 


is the first place where one would be apt to look for 
him ; and, besides, I think he is getting too w T ell 
known in Chicago.” 

“ He is bound for Wisconsin,” cried Jack. “ Whip 
along. This road passes through the timber, and 
brings us to the river again ; we shall soon find set- 
tlements, where we can inquire for our game.” 

“ If you can speak Dutch, and if it was n’t too late 
when Bad passed through,” Eufe replied. “ There is 
a colony of meinheers up here ; they go to bed a little 
after sundown.” 

As they drove on from the crossing, Jack said, 
“That left-hand road goes to North Mills. But I 
sha’ n’t see North Mills to-night, nor for a good many 
nights, I ’m afraid.” 

Jack, however, as we shall see, was mistaken. 

The road above the crossing was much more trav- 
elled than below ; and for a while the boys found it 
very difficult to make out Snowfoot’s tracks. But 
soon again fortune favored them. 

“ Bain — it has been raining here ! ” said Jack, ex- 
amining the road where it entered the skirts of the 
timber, “and raining hard! We must be nearing 
the path of the whirlwind again.” 

They passed through a belt of woods, where the 
storm had evidently passed but without doing much 
damage ; for it was a peculiarity of that elephant of 
a cloud that it appeared to draw up its destroying 
trunk once or twice, and skip over a few miles in its 
course, only to swing it down again with greater fury. 


ON THE WAR TRAIL.' 


267 


« 


The road was now drenched all the way, and the 
trail they followed was so distinct that the boys did 
not stop to make inquiries at the log-huts which began 
to appear before they were well through the woods. 

They made comparatively rapid progress up the 
valley, until they came to a point where the river, in 
its winding course, was crossed by the road. There, 
again, the tornado had done a brisk business; the 
bridge was destroyed, the side of the road gullied, 
and the river swollen. 

Both boys alighted and examined the track. 

“ Here is where he stopped and hesitated, finding 
the bridge gone,” said Jack. “And see ! here are his 
own tracks, as if he had got out of the buggy and 
gone ahead to reconnoitre.” 

“As well he might,” Bufe answered. “Look at 
these tree-tops, and the timbers of the bridge lodged 
in the middle of the river ! ” 

“He seems to have got through, and I guess we 
can,” said Jack. “ I Ve forded this stream, below the 
bridge, before now, when I Ve wanted to water my 
horse ; but it was free from all this sort of rubbish 
then. There must have been a great fall of rain up 
here ! ” 


268 


THE YOUNG SURVEYOR. 


CHAPTER XXXVII. 

TIIE MYSTERY OF A PAIR OF BREECHES. 

Jack went out with the lantern upon the ruined 
abutment of the bridge, and showed a space beside 
the drift-wood, in the turbid and whirling current, 
where fording seemed practicable. 

Then the boys got into the wagon again, and the 
mare was driven cautiously forward, by the glim- 
mering light which the lantern shed faintly before 
and around them. Lion swam ahead, throwing up 
his muzzle and barking loud, like a faithful pilot 
showing the safest way. The wheels went in over 
the hubs; the water came into the bottom of the 
wagon-box; the flood boiled and plashed and gur- 
gled, and swept away in black, whirling eddies ; and 
Jack said, “ This would n’t be a very nice place to 
break down, eh, — would it ? ” 

But they got safely through; and on the farther 
bank they were pleased to find again the trail of the 
horse and buggy. 

They were now in high spirits. The whirlwind 
having passed up the river, the road lay aside from 
its direct path, but still within the area of rain. 

“ This is gay ! ” said Jack. “ He thinks he has 
baffled us; and he will put up somewhere for the 


Following thr War Trail under Difficulties. 




































































































































« 












THE MYSTERY OF A PAIR OF BREECHES. 269 

night ; and we won’t I We shall circumvent Master 
Radcliff!” 

But soon the boys were again puzzled. Reaching 
another cross-road, and bringing the lantern to hear 
upon the trail, they found that, instead of continuing 
northward, toward Wisconsin, or turning to the right, 
in the direction of Chicago, it turned at a sharp angle 
to the left, in the direction of North Mills. 

“ This move is a perfect mystery to me ! ” Jack 
exclaimed. “ It seems as if he had thought the 
thing all over, and finally chosen the very last place - 
one would expect him to make for.” 

“ Are you sure this road leads to North Mills ? ” 

“ Perfectly sure ; I ’ve been this way three or four 
times. But another road branches from it, and 
passes a mile north of the Mills; he has probably 
taken that.” 

But no; after a good deal of trouble — the road 
appearing once more dry and much trodden — they 
discovered that the horse and buggy had not taken 
the branch, but kept the direct route to the Mills ! 

“ It does n’t seem possible ! there must be some 
mistake here,” said Jack. And every rod of their 
progress seemed now to increase the boys’ doubts. 

The road, long before they reached the Mills, be- 
came a mere bed of brown dust, in which it required 
a pretty vivid imagination to distinguish one track 
from another. The boys’ spirits sank accordingly. 
Lion still led them boldly on ; but his guidance could 
no longer be trusted. 


270 


TIIE YOUNG SURVEYOR. 


“ He ’s bound for home now,” said Jack, “ and he ’ll 
go straight there.” 

“ If Rad did come this way,” said Rufe, “ he was 
shrewd, after all. He knew that by passing through 
a busy place like the Mills, he would hide his tracks 
as he could n’t in any other way.” 

“ To find ’em again,” Jack replied, rather gloomily, 
“ we shall have to examine every road going out of 
this place.” 

It must have been near midnight when they en- 
tered the village. The houses were all dark and 
still ; not a ray at a window, not even the bark of a 
dog, gave sign of life as they passed. 

“•This looks discouraging,” said Jack. 

“ A needle in a haystack is no comparison,” replied 
Rufe. “ The lantern is almost out.” 

“ I can get another at our house,” said Jack. ic We 
may as well follow the dog now. What did I tell 
you ? He is going straight home ! ” 

The dog trotted up to the gate before Mr. Lanman’s 
cottage, and the wagon turned up after him. 

“ What ’s that ahead of us?” said Jack, as the mare 
came to a sudden stop. 

“ Seems to be a wagon standing,” said Rufe, shad- 
ing his eyes from the lantern and peering into the 
darkness. 

Jack jumped out, ran forward, and gave a shout. 
The wagon was a buggy, and the horse was Snow- 
foot, standing before the gate, waiting patiently to 
be let in. 


THE MYSTERY OF A PAIR OF BREECHES. 271 

Quite wild with delight and astonishment, Jack 
took the lantern and examined horse and vehicle. 

“ Old Lion ! you were right,” he exclaimed. “ The 
scamp must have let the horse go, and taken to his 
heels. And the horse made for home.” 

“ The most he cared for was to get off with the 
money,” said Rufe, not quite so abundantly pleased 
as his friend. “ What ’s this thing under the seat ? ” 

“ The compass ! ” said Jack, if possible, still more 
surprised and overjoyed, “ which I accused Zeph of 
stealing ! ” 

Rufe continued rummaging, and, holding the lan- 
tern with one hand, lifted up a limp garment with 
the other. 

“ What in thunder ? A pair of breeches ! Rad’s 
breeches ! Where can the scamp have gone with- 
out his breeches ? See what ’s in the pocket there, 
Jack.” 

Jack thrust in his hand, and brought out some 
loose bank-notes. He thrust in his hand again, and 
brought out a pocket-book, containing more bank- 
notes. It was Mr. Betterson’s pocket-book, and the 
notes were the stolen money. 

Jack was hastily turning them over — not count- 
in" them, he was too much amazed and excited to do 
that — when the candle in the lantern gave a final 
flicker and went out, leaving the boys and the mys- 
tery of the compass and the money and Rad’s panta- 
loons enveloped in sudden darkness. 


272 


THE YOUNG SURVEYOR. 


CHAPTER XXXVIII. 

THE MORNING AFTER. 

Bright rose the sun the next morning over the 
leafy tops of Long Woods, and smiled upon the 
pleasant valley. 

It found many a trace of the previous day’s dev- 
astation, — trees uprooted or twisted off at their 
trunks, branches and limbs broken and scattered, 
fences blown down, and more than one man’s build- 
ings unroofed or demolished. 

It found Peakslow, accompanied by the two older 
boys, walking about his private and particular pile 
of ruins, in a gloomy and bewildered state of mind, 
as if utterly at a loss to know where the repair of 
such tremendous damages should begin. And (the 
sun itself must have been somewhat astonished) it 
found Mrs. Peakslow and the younger children, five 
in number, comfortably quartered in Lord Betterson’s 
“ castle.” 

It also had glimpses of Eufe, with light and jolly 
face, driving home by prairie and grove, alone in the 
one-horse wagon. 

Link ran out to meet him, swinging his cap and 
shouting for the news. 

u Good news ! ” Eufe shouted back, while still far 


THE MORNING AFTER. 


273 


up the road. “ Tell the folks !” And he held up the 
pocket-book. 

It was good news indeed which he brought ; but 
the mystery at the bottom of it all was a mystery 
still. 

The family gathered around, with intense interest, 
while he told his story and displayed Bad's panta- 
loons. 

“ The eighty dollars, which you had counted out, 
' — you remember, father, — was loose in the pocket. 
I left that with Jack; he will send it to Chicago 
to-day. The rest of the money, I believe, is all here 
in the pocket-book.” 

“ And you ’ve heard nothing of Badcliff ? ” said 
Mr. Betterson. 

“ Not a word. Jack made me stop with him over 
night; and I should have come home the way we 
went, and looked for Bad, if it had n’t been so far ; 
we must have driven twelve or fifteen miles in that 
roundabout chase.” 

“ Some accident must certainly have happened to 
Badcliff,” said Mr. Betterson. And much wonder and 
many conjectures were expressed by the missing 
youth’s not very unhappy relatives. 

“ I bet I know I” said Link, “ He drove so fast he 
overtook the tornado, and it twisted him out of his 
breeches, and hung him up in a tree somewhere ! ” 

An ingenious theory, which did not, however, obtain 
much credence with the family. 

“ One thing seems to be proved, and I am very glad,” 

12* R 


274 


THE YOUNG SURVEYOR. 


said Yinnie. a It was not Zeph who took Jack’s 
compass.” 

a Ead must have taken that, to spite Jack, and hid 
it somewhere near the road in the timber, where it 
would be handy if he ever wanted to make off with 
it ; that ’s what J ack thinks,” said Eufe. “ Then, as 
he was driving past the spot, he put it into the buggy 
again.” 

“ Maybe he intended to set up for a surveyor 
somewhere,” Wad remarked. “ He must have taken 
another pair of trousers with him.” 

“ I am sure he did n’t,” said Cecie. 

“ And even if he did,” said Eufe, “ that would n’t 
account for his leaving the money in the pocket.” 

The family finally settled down upon a theory 
which had been first suggested by Jack, — that in 
fording the river Ead had caught his wheels in the 
tree-tops or timbers of the ruined bridge, and, to keep 
his lower garments dry, had taken them off and left 
them in the buggy, while he waded in to remove the 
rubbish, when the horse had somehow got away from 
him, and gone home. It also seemed quite probable 
that Ead himself had become entangled in drift-wood, 
and been drowned. 

“ Feed the mare, boys,” said Lord Betterson. “ As 
soon as she is well rested, I ’ll drive up to the broken 
bridge, and see if any discoveries can be made.” 

Meanwhile, whatever Eadcliff’s fate, it did not 
prevent the family from rejoicing over the recovery 
of the lost money. And now Eufe’s attention was 


THE MORNING AFTER. 


275 


called to another happy circumstance, one which 
promised to be to them a source of deeper and more 
lasting satisfaction. 

Cecie could walk ! 

Yes, the marvellous effects of the previous day’s 
events were still manifest in the case of the little in- 
valid. Either the tremendous excitement, thrilling 
and rousing her whole system, or the electric shock 
which accompanied the whirlwind, or the exertions 
she felt compelled to make when Rad ran off with 
the money, — or all combined (for the doctors were 
divided in opinion on the subject), — had overcome 
the paralysis of her limbs, which a long course of 
medical treatment had failed to remove. 

The family physician, who chanced to come over 
from the Mills that day, maintained that what he had 
been doing for the injured spine, the source of Cecie’s 
troubles, had prepared the way for this result ; while 
neighbor Peakslow, when he heard the news, grunted, 
and said he “ guessed the gal could ’a’ walked all the 
time if she had only thought she could, or wanted to 
very much.” All which made Cecie smile. She 
only knew that she was cured, and was too proud 
and glad to care much what was said of her. 


27C 


TIIE YOUNG SURVEYOR. 


CHAPTEK XXXIX. 

FOLLOWING UP THE MYSTERY. 

In the course of the day Mr. Betterson and Eufe 
visited the supposed scene of Bad’s disaster, and 
there met by chance Jack and his friend Forrest 
Felton, who for a similar object had driven up from 
North Mills. 

The river had gone down almost as rapidly as it 
had risen, and fording it now by daylight was no 
such difficult matter. But there still were the tim- 
bers and tree-tops amidst which the vehicles had 
passed the night before. 

Jack showed marks on one of his wheels where 
the spokes had been sharply raked, and told how, 
examining Snowfoot by daylight, he had found 
muddy splashes on his flank, as if he had been 
struck there by a bough or branch drenched in 
turbid water. 

“ I think,” said he, “ that as Bad was getting the 
buggy clear, the limb of a tree turned over and hit 
the horse. That started him, and away he went. I 
don’t believe Bad is drowned.” 

Search was made among the rubbish at the bridge, 
and for some distance down the river j but no traces 
of Bad were discovered. 


FOLLOWING UP THE MYSTERY. 


277 


“ Maybe be has gone home by water/’ was Rufe’s 
rather too playful way of saying that the drowned 
body might have floated down stream. 

“ If he got out alive,” said J ack’s friend Felton, 
u he must have found his way to some house near by, 
in quest of pantaloons.” And the party now pro- 
ceeded to make inquiries at the scattered huts of the 
Dutch — or rather German — settlers along the edge 
of the timber. 

At the first two doors where they stopped they 
found only women and children, who could speak 
no English. But at the next house they saw a girl, 
who eagerly answered “ Yah ! yah ! ” to their ques- 
tions, and ran and called a man working at the back 
door. 

He was a short, thick-set man, with a big russet 
beard and serious blue eyes. 

“ Goot morgin,” he said, coming to the road to 
greet the strangers. “ Der been some vind dis vay, 
— you see some ? — vas las’ ebening.” 

The strangers acknowledged that they had expe- 
rienced some effects of the wind the night before, and 
repeated their questions regarding Radcliff. 

“ Young man, — no priches, — yah ! yah ! ” replied 
Meinheer. “ He come ’long here, vas pout nine 
hours, may pe some more.” 

“ A little after nine o’clock last night?” suggested 
Jack. 

“ Yah, yah ! I vas bed slileepin’, somebody knock 
so loud, I git some candle light, and make de door 


278 


THE YOUNG SURVEYOR. 


open, and der vas some young feller, liis face sick, 
his clo’es all so vet hut his priches, — his priches 
vas not vet, for he has no priches, only some shoes.” 

“ Where did he come from ? ” 

“ He say he come from up stream ; he pass de 
pridge over, and der vas no pridge ; and he dhrive 
’cross de vaser, and lie cannot dhrive ’cross ; so he 
git out, only his priches not git out, for de vaser vas 
vet, and his priches keeps in de vagon, vile he keeps 
in de vaser; he make some lift on some logs, and 
someding make de boss fright, and de lioss jump and 
jerk de vagon, and de vagon jerk someding vat jerk 
him ; and de priches rides off, and he shtop in de 
vaser, and dhink some, and git sick, and he say de 
log in his shtomach and so much vaser was pad, and 
I mus’ give him some dhink viskey and some dry 
priches, and I gives ’em.” 

“ A pair of your breeches ? ” cried Rufe, eying the 
baggy proportions of Meinlieer’s nether garments. 

“ I have no oder ; I fetch ’em from faderland ; and 
I gives him some. He stick his legs in, and some 
of his legs come too much under; de priches vas 
some too vide, and some not long genoof. He dhink 
more viskey, and feel goot, and say he find his team 
and bring back my priches to-morrow, and it is to- 
morrow yet, and he not come.” 

Even the grave uncle of the luckless nephew had 
to laugh as he thought of the slim legs pursuing their 
travels in the short but enormous “ priches ” fetched 
from fatherland. 


FOLLOWING UP THE MYSTERY. 279 

“ How much were your breeches worth ? ” Lord 
said, taking out some money. 

“I don’t know — I don’t keeps priches to sell; 
may pe vun tollar.” 

Betterson gave the German a dollar, saying, — 

“ Allow me to pay for them ; for, if I mistake not, 
you will never see the young man or your breeches 
again.” 

He was quite right : the German never did. 

Neither — it may as well be said here — did Bad- 
cliff’s own relatives see him again for many years. 
What various adventures were his can only be sur- 
mised, until one of the “Philadelphia partners,” 
settling up his accounts with the world, left him a 
legacy of six thousand dollars, when he once more 
bloomed out as a fine gentleman, and favored his 
Western friends with a visit. 

He ran through his little fortune in a few months, 
and once more disappeared from view, to turn up 
again, five or six years later (when Jack and Yinnie 
saw him for the last time), as a runner for one of the 
great Chicago hotels. 


280 


THE YOUNG SURVEYOR. 


CHAPTER XL. 

PEAKSLOW’S HOUSE-RAISING. 

“ Mercy on me ! ” said Caroline, hearing an unu- 
sual noise in the front part of the house ; “ now we 
are to have the racket of those Peakslow children ! 
What could you have been thinking of, Lavinia 
dear ? I’m sure I did n’t know what I was saying 
when I gave my consent to their coming. The idea 
of their turning our library into a kitchen ! Hot 
that I blame you , Lavinia dear. I ought to have 
considered.” 

“ Surely you would n’t have denied the houseless 
family a shelter ? ” Vinnie replied. “ That would 
have seemed too bad, with those great chambers un- 
occupied. As for the library ,” — Yinnie smiled, for 
the unfurnished room called by that choice name 
had nothing in it but a fireplace, — “ I don’t think 
any harm can happen to that.” 

Yinnie had a plan regarding the Peakslow chil- 
dren, which she laid before Mrs. Peakslow as soon as 
the new inmates were fairly settled in the house. 

“ Since my sister and the baby have been so much 
better, I have begun a little school, with only two 
scholars, — Cecie and Lilian. Wouldn’t your chil- 
dren like to join it ? I think it would be pleasant.” 


PEAKSLOW’S HOUSE-RAISING. 


281 


“Whuther they would or not, I’d like to have 
’em,” replied Mrs. Peakslow, gratefully. “ The 
chances for schoolin’ is dreffle slim in this country ; 
we’ve no school-house within nigh two mile. But 
how shall I pay ye ? ” 

“ You need n’t mind about that.” 

“Yes, I shall mind too. We must do somethin’ 
for you in return.” 

“Well, then,” said Vinnie, “ if you like, you may 
let one of the girls help a little in my sister’s kitchen, 
to make up for the time I spend with them.” 

“ I ’ll do it, sartin ! You shall have Lyddy. She ’s 
a good smart hand at housework, and you may git 
all out of her you can.” 

So it was arranged. The little school of two was 
increased to five ; the “ parlor ” — used only to store 
grain in hitherto — was turned into a school-room ; 
and Lyddy worked in Mrs. Betterson’s kitchen. 

“ Lavinia dear, you arc an extraordinary girl ! ” 
said Caroline. “ It seems the greatest miracle of all 
to see one of the Peakslows washing our dishes ! ” 

Ho one was better pleased with this arrangement 
than Jack, who could never be reconciled to seeing 
Yinnie — with all her health and strength and cheery 
spirits — doing the hardest of the housework. 

Jack took early occasion, on visiting Long Woods, 
to go and see Mr. Peakslow, and make him a frank 
apology for having once suspected Zeph of taking his 
compass. But he got only an ugly scowl and surly 
grunt for his pains. 


282 


THE YOUNG SURVEYOR. 


For a while Peakslow did not go near his family, 
quartered in his enemy’s house ; hut slept in the 
haystack, with Dud and Zeph, and ate the meals his 
wife cooked and sent to him three times a day. 

But soon Dud went to sleep at the “castle,” and 
found he had nothing more formidable to meet than 
Yinnie’s bright eyes, — for Dud had suddenly devel- 
oped into a bashful youth. 

Zeph in a night or two followed his example, and 
Peakslow was left alone in his haystack. 

And the nights were growing chill; and the re- 
pair of the buildings went on slowly, carpenters 
being scarce ; and Peakslow, who had a heart for 
domestic comforts, began to yearn for the presence 
of his family at mealtime and bedtime. 

At length he stole into the house after dark one 
evening, and stole out again before light the next 
morning. That did not seem to hurt him ; on the 
contrary, it suited Peakslow ; his neighbor’s house 
w r as better than a haystack. Then he came to sup- 
per and stayed to breakfast. Then there was no good 
reason why he should not come to dinner ; and he 
came accordingly. 

Then he stopped after dinner one day to see how 
Vinnie conducted her little school, and went away 
looking wonderfully thoughtful. The boys remem- 
bered that he did not scold them so sharply that 
afternoon as he had been wont to do since the tor- 
nado disturbed his temper. 

One morning, as he was going out, Peakslow saw 


PEAKSLOW’S HOUSE-RAISING. 


283 


Lord Betterson in the yard, and advanced awkwardly 
toward him, holding his hat in one hand and scratch- 
ing his head with the other. There was, after all, a 
vein of diffidence in the rough quartz of the man’s 
character ; and somehow, on this occasion, he could 
n’t help showing his neighbor a good deal of respect. 

“I’m a- gun to have a bee this arternoon, — a 
raisin’, — gun to try to git the logs back on to the 
house, an’ the ruf on to the shed, — everything 
ready, — some o’ the neighbors cornin’ to help, — and 
if you an’ your boys can lend a hand, I ’ll do as 
much for you some time.” 

“ Surely ; very glad to serve you, Neighbor Peak- 
slow,” Lord Betterson replied, in his magnificently 
polite way, much as if he had been a monarch dis- 
missing a foreign ambassador. 

Jack came over to Long Woods that afternoon, 
and, having rectified Mrs. Wiggett’s noon-mark, 
stopped at Peakslow’s raising on his way back up 
the valley. 

He found a group of men and boys before the 
house, partaking of some refreshments, — sweetened 
whiskey and water, passed round in a pail with a 
tin dipper by Zeph, and “ nut-cakes ” and “ turn- 
overs,” served by Mrs. Peakslow and ’Lecty Ann. 

The sight of Snowfoot tied to his fence made 
Peakslow glare ; nor was his ruffled spirit smoothed 
when he saw Jack come forward with a cheery face 
and a compass in his hand. 

Jack greeted the Bettersons, Mr. Wiggett, and 


284 


THE YOUNG SURVEYOR. 


one or two others he knew, and was talking pleas- 
antly with them, when Peakslow pushed the inverted 
cut-water of his curved beak through the crowd, and 
confronted him. 

“ So that air ’s the compass, is it ? ” 

“ This is the compass, Mr. Peakslow.” 

“ Keep it in yer hand, now’days, do ye ? Don’t 
trust it in the wagon ? Good idee ! No danger of 
its bein’ stole, an’ your cornin’ agin to ’cuse my boys 
of the theft ! ” 

Peakslow’s ancient wrath rekindled as he spoke ; 
his voice trembled and his eyes flamed. 

Jack kept his temper admirably, and answered 
with a frank and honest face, — 

“ I have made the best amends I could for that 
mistake, by apologizing to you for it, Mr. Peakslow. 
I don’t keep the compass in my hand because I 
am afraid it may be stolen. I have called — as 
I promised Mrs. Peakslow the other day that I 
would do — to give her a noon-mark on her kitchen 
floor.” 

“ How ’s this ? — promised her ? — I don’t under- 
stand that ! ” growled Peakslow. 

“ Yes, pa ! ” said Mrs. Peakslow, with a frightened 
look. “ I seen him to Mis’ Betterson’s. He ’d made 
a noon-mark for Mis’ Wiggett, and Mis’ Betterson’s 
sister asked me if I would n’t like one, as he was 
cornin’ to make them one some day.” 

Off went Peakslow’s hat, and into his bushy hair 
went his fingers again, while he stammered out, — 


PEAKSLOW’S HOUSE-RAISING. 


285 


“ But he can’t make no noon-mark this arternoon, 
— we ’re all in a mess an’ litter, so !. ” 

“ Just as well now as any time,” said Jack. “The 
doorway is clear. I slia’ n’t interfere with any- 
body.” 

“ What ’ll be to pay ? ” Peakslow asked. 

“ 0, I don’t charge anything for a little job like 
this, — to one of Mr. Betterson’s neighbors.” 

“ That ’s jes’ so ; he did n’t charge me nary red,” 
said Mr. Wiggett. “ An’ he ’s done the job for me 
now tew times, — fust time, the tornado come and 
put the noon-mark out o’ j’int, ’fore ever a noon come 
round.” 

Jack adjusted his compass, while the house-raisers 
looked on, to see how the thing was done, Peakslow 
appearing as much interested as anybody. 

Jack got Link to make the first marks for him 
on the floor, and laughed, as he looked through the 
sights of the compass, to hear Mr. Wiggett describe 
the finding of his section corner, — “runnin’ a line 
plumb to the old stake, out on the open perairie,” — 
and praise the boy-surveyor’s skill. 

The mark was made with quickness and precision ; 
friends and strangers crowded around Jack with kind 
words and questions ; and he was surprised to find 
himself all at once a person of importance. 

Peakslow puffed hard at his pipe. His face was 
troubled ; and two or three times he pulled the pipe 
out of his mouth, thrust his knuckles under his hat, 
and took a step toward the young surveyor. He 


286 


THE YOUNG SURVEYOR. 


also cleared his throat. He evidently had a word to 
say. But the word would not come. 

When at last he let Jack go off without offering 
him even a syllable of thanks, the bystanders smiled, 
and somebody might have been heard to mutter, 
“ Peakslow all over! Just like his hoggishness ! ” 
Jack smiled too as he went, for he had shrewdly 
observed his enemy, and he knew it was not “ hog- 
gishness” which kept Peakslow’s lips closed, but a 
feeling which few suspected in that grasping, hard, 
and violent-tempered man. 

Peakslow was abashed! 


CONCLUSION. 


287 


CHAPTER XLI. 

CONCLUSION. 

The house made once more inhabitable, Peakslow’s 
family moved back into it. But this change did not 
take Lyddy away from the “ castle,” nor break up 
Yinnie’s school. 

The “castle ” now underwent some renovation. The 
long- neglected plastering was done, and the rooms in 
daily use were made comfortable. 

Meanwhile the boys were full of ambition regard- 
ing their water-works. The project had cost them a 
good deal more trouble than they had anticipated at 
first ; but they were amply repaid for all on the day 
when the water was finally let on, and they saw it 
actually run from the spout in the back-room! Such 
a result had seemed to them almost too good ever to 
come true ; and their joy over it was increased ten- 
fold by the doubts and difficulties overcome. 

Jack had come over to be present when the water 
was brought in, and he was almost as happy over it 
as they. 

“No more trouble with the old well ! ” said Rufe. 

“No more lugging water from the grove ! ” said Wad. 

“ Or going into the river head-first after it, as you 
and I did ! ” said Link. 


288 


THE YOUNG SURVEYOR. 


Vinnie was proud of her nephews, and Caroline 
and Lord were proud of their sons. 



THE WATER QUESTION SETTLED. 


“ How fine it will be for your dairy, in summer, 
— this cold, running water!” said Vinnie. 

But Chohie seemed best pleased, because he would 


CONCLUSION. 


289 


no longer be dependent npon precarious rains filling 
the hogshead, but would have a whole tankful of 
water — an ocean in the back-room — to sail his 
shingle boats on. 

The boys had also acted on another suggestion of 
Jack’s, and taken the farm to work. This plan also 
promised to succeed well. The prospect of doing 
something for themselves, roused energies which 
might have lain dormant all their lives, if they 
had been contented to sit still and wait for others 
to help them. 

As Yinnie’s school became known, other pupils 
appeared from up and down the river, and by the 
first snowfall she had more than a dozen scholars. 
Among these were Sal Wiggett and two big boys 
belonging to the paternal Wiggett’s “ third crap ” of 
children, and Dud and Zeph Peakslow. 

The Betterson boys also attended the school, Wad 
and Link as pupils, and Rufe partly as a pupil and 
partly as an assistant. Yinnie could teach him pen- 
manship and grammar, but she was glad to turn over 
to him the classes in arithmetic, for which study he 
had a natural aptitude. 

The Peakslow children, both boys and girls, had a 
good deal in them that was worth cultivating ; and 
amid the genial associations of the little school they 
fast outgrew their rude and uncouth ways. It was 
interesting to see Zeph and Cecie reciting the same 
lessons side by side, and Pufe showing Dud about 
the sums that bothered him. 


13 


s 


290 


THE YOUNG SURVEYOR. 


Caroline had very much objected to Yinnie’s en- 
larging her school, and especially to her receiving the 
big boys. The success of the experiment surprised 
her. Yinnie had a charming way with the younger 
children, and a peculiarly subduing influence over 
the big boys. 

“ Lavinia dear,” said Caroline “ what have I always 
said ? You are a most extraordinary girl ! ” 

And now things came round curiously enough; 
and an event occurred of which nobody could have 
dreamed when Yinnie set out alone, with a brave 
heart, to do her simple duty to her sister’s family. 

It was found that she had a happy faculty for 
interesting and instructing the young. So when, in 
the spring, a girls’ school was opened at North Mills, 
she was offered a place in it as assistant teacher, 
which her friends there — Jack’s friends — prevailed 
on her to accept. 

Leaving Long Woods cost her many regrets. But 
the better order of things was now well established 
at the " castle ” (which was fast ceasing to be a 
castle, in the popular speech) ; and she felt that its 
inmates could spare her very well, - — if they would 
only think so ! 

Other considerations also consoled her for the 
change. She would still be where she could see 
her relatives often ; and now Jack’s delightful home 
was to be her own. 


THE END. 


FAMOUS STANDARD 
JUVENILE LIBRARIES 


ANY VOLUME SOLD SEPARATELY AT $1.00 PER VOLUME 

(Except the Sportsman’s Club Series, Frank Nelson Series and 
Jack Hazard Series.). 

Each Volume Illustrated. l2mo. Cloth. 


HORATIO ALGER, JR. 

The enormous sales of the books of Horatio Alger, Jr., 
show the greatness of his popularity among the boys, and 
prove that he is one of their most favorted writers. I am told 
that more than half a million copies altogether have been 
sold, and that all the large circulating libraries in the country 
have several complete sets, of which only two or three vol- 
umes are ever on the shelves at one time. If this is true, 
what thousands and thousands of boys have read and are 
reading Mr. Alger’s books ! His peculiar style of stories, 
often imitated but never equaled, have taken a hold upon the 
young people, and, despite their similarity, are eagerly read 
as soon as they appear. 

Mr. Alger became famous with the publication of that 
undying book, “Ragged Dick, or Street Life in New York.” 
It was his first book for young people, and its success was so 
great that he immediately devoted himself to that kind of 
writing. It was a new and fertile field for a writer then, and 
Mr. Alger’s treatment of it at once caught the fancy of the 
boys. “Ragged Dick” first appeared in 1868, and ever since 
then it has been selling steadily, until now it is estimated 
that about 200,000 copies of the series have been sold. 

— Pleasant Hours for Boys and Girls. 


2 


HENRY T. COATES & CO.’S POPUEAR JUVENIEES. 


A writer for boys should have an abundant sympathy 
with them. He should be able to enter into their plans, 
hopes, and aspirations. He should learn to look upon life 
as they do. Boys object to be written down to. A boy’s 
heart opens to the man or writer who understands him. 

— From Writing Stories for Boys , by Horatio Alger, Jr. 


RAGGED DICK SERIES. 

6 vols. By Horatio Alger, Jr. $6.00 

Ragged Dick. Rough and Ready. 

Fame and Fortune. Ben the Luggage Boy. 

Mark the Match Boy. Rufus and Rose. 

TATTERED TOM SERIES— First Series. 

4 vols. By Horatio Alger, Jr. $4.00 

Tattered Tom. Phil the Fiddler. 

Paul the Peddler. Slow and Sure. 

TATTERED TOM SERIES — Second Series. 

4 vols. $4.00 

Julius. Sam’s Chance. 

The Young Outlaw. The Telegraph Boy. 

CAMPAIGN SERIES. 

3 vols. By Horatio Alger, Jr. #3.00 

Frank’s Campaign. Charlie Codman’s Cruise. 

Paul Prescott’s Charge. 

LUCK AND PLUCK SERIES— First Series. 

4 vols. By Horatio Alger, Jr. $4.00 

Luck and Pluck. Strong and Steady. 

Sink or Swim. Strive and Succeed. 


HENRY T. COATES & CO.’S POPULAR JUVENIEES. 3 


LUCK AND PLUCK SERIES— Second Series. 

4 vols. $4.00 

Try and Trust. Risen from the Ranks. 

Bound to Rise. Herbert Carter’s, Legacy. 

BRAVE AND BOLD SERIES. 

4 vols. By Horatio Arger, Jr. $4.00 

Brave and Bold. Shifting for Himself. 

Jack’s Ward. Wait and Hope. 

NEW WORLD SERIES. 

3 vols. By Horatio Arger, Jr. $3.00 

Digging for Gold. Facing the World. In a New World, 

VICTORY SERIES. 

3 vols. By Horatio Arger, Jr. $3.00 

Only an Irish Boy. Adrift in the City. 

Victor Vane, or the Young Secretary. 

FRANK AND FEARLESS SERIES. 

3 vols. By Horatio Arger, Jr. $3.' 00 


Frank Hunter’s Peril. Frank and Fearless. 



The Young Salesman. 


GOOD FORTUNE LIBRARY. 

3 vols. By Horatio Arger, Jr. 

Walter Sherwood’s Probation. A Boy’s Fortune. 

The Young Bank Messenger. 

$3.00 

1 vol. 

RUPERT’S AMBITION. 

By Horatio Arger, Jr. 

$ 1.00 

1 vol. 

JED, THE POOR=HOUSE BOY. 

By Horatio Arger, Jr. 

$ 1.00 


4 HENRY T. COATES & CO.’S POPULAR JUVENILES. 


HARRY CASTLEMON. 

HOW I CAME TO WRITE MY FIRST BOOK. 

When I was sixteen years old I belonged to a composi- 
tion class. It was our custom to go on the recitation seat 
every day with clean slates, and we were allowed ten min- 
utes to write seventy words on any subject the teacher 
thought suited to our capacity. One day he gave out “What 
a Man Would See if He Went to Greenland.” My heart was 
in the matter, and before the ten minutes were up I had one 
side of my slate filled. The teacher listened to the reading 
of our compositions, and when they were all over he simply 
said : ‘ ‘Some of you will make your living by writing one 
of these days.” That gave me something to ponder upon. 
I did not say so out loud, but I knew that my composition 
was as good as the best of them. By the way, there was 
another thing that came in my way just then. I was read- 
ing at that time one of Mayne Reid’s works which I had 
drawn from the library, and I pondered upon it as much as 
I did upon what the teacher said to me. In introducing 
Swartboy to his readers he made use of this expression : 
“No visible change was observable in Swartboy ’s counte- 
nance. ’ ’ Now, it occurred to me that if a man of his educa- 
tion could make such a blunder as that and still write a 
book, I ought to be able to do it, too. I went home that very 
day and began a story, “The Old Guide’s Narrative,” which 
was sent to the New York Weekly, and came back, respect- 
fully declined. It was written on both sides of the sheets 
but I didn’t know that this was against the rules. Nothing 
abashed, I began 'another, and receiving some instruction, 
from a friend of mine who was a clerk in a book store, I 
wrote it on only one side of the paper. But mind you, he 
didn’t know what I was doing. Nobody knew it ; but one 


HENRY T. COATES & CO.’S POPULAR JUVENILES. 5 


day, after a hard Saturday’s work — the other boys had been 
out skating on the brick-pond — I shyly broached the subject 
to my mother. I felt the need of some sympathy. She 
listened in amazement, and then said : “Why, do you think 
you could write a book like that?” That settled the matter, 
and from that day no one knew what I was up to until I sent 
the first four volumes of Gunboat Series to my father. Was 
it work ? Well, yes ; it was hard work, but each week I had 
the satisfaction of seeing the manuscript grow until the 
“Young Naturalist” was all complete. 

— Harry Castlemon in the Writer. 


GUNBOAT SERIES. 

6 vols. By Harry Castlemon. $6.00 

Frank the Young Naturalist. Frank before Vicksburg. 
Frank on a Gunboat. Frank on the Tower Mississippi. 

Frank in the Woods. Frank on the Prairie. 

ROCKY MOUNTAIN SERIES. 

3 vols. By Harry Castlemon. $3.00 

Frank Among the Rancheros. Frank in the Mountains. 
Frank at Don Carlos’ Rancho. 

SPORTSMAN’S CLUB SERIES. 

3 vols. By Harry Castlemon. 13-75 

The Sportsman’s Club in the Saddle. The Sportsman’s Club 
The Sportsman’s Club Afloat. Among the Trappers. 

FRANK NELSON SERIES. 

3 vols. By Harry Castlemon. $3.75 

Snowed up. Frank in the Forecastle. The Boy Traders. 

BOY TRAPPER SERIES. 

3 vols. By Harry Castlemon. $3.00 

The Buried Treasure. The Boy Trapper. The Mail Carrier. 


6 HENRY T. COATES & CO.’S POPULAR JUVENIEES. 


ROUGHING IT SERIES. 

3 vols. By Harry CasteEmon. $3.00 

George in Camp. George at the Fort. 

George at the Wheel. 

ROD AND GUN SERIES. 

3 vols. By Harry CasteEmon. $3.00 

Don Gordon’s Shooting Box. The Young Wild Fowlers. 
Rod and Gun Club. 

GO=AHEAD SERIES. 

3 vols. By Harry CasteEmon. $3.00 

Tom Newcombe. Go-Ahead. No Moss. 

WAR SERIES. 

6 vols. By Harry CasteEmon. $6.oo 

True to His Colors. Marcy the Blockade-Runner. 

Rodney the Partisan. Marcy the Refugee. 

Rodney the Overseer. Sailor Jack the Trader. 

HOUSEBOAT SERIES. 

3 vols. By Harry CasteEmon. $3.00 

The Houseboat Boys. The Mystery of Lost River Canon. 
The Young Game Warden. 

AFLOAT AND ASHORE SERIES. 

3 vols. By Harry CasteEmon. $3.00 

Rebellion in Dixie. A Sailor in Spite of Himself. 

The Ten-Ton Cutter. 

THE PONY EXPRESS SERIES. 

3 vol. By Harry CasteEmon. $3.00 

The Pony Express Rider. The White Beaver. 

Carl, The Trailer. 


HENRY T. COATES & CO.’S POPULAR JUVENIEES. 7 


EDWARD S* ELLIS. 

Bdward S. Beeis, the popular writer of boys’ books, is 
a native of Ohio, where he was born somewhat more than a 
half-century ago. His father was a famous hunter and rifle 
shot, and it was doubtless his exploits and those of his asso- 
ciates, with their tales of adventure which gave the son his 
taste for the breezy backwoods and for depicting the stirring 
life of the early settlers on the frontier. 

Mr. Bllis began writing at an early age and his work was 
acceptable from the first. His parents removed to New 
Jersey while he was a boy and he was graduated from the 
State Normal School and became a member of the faculty 
while still in his teens. He was afterward principal of the 
Trenton High School, a trustee and then superintendent of 
schools. By that time his services as a writer had become 
so pronounced that he gave his entire attention to literature. 
He was an exceptionally successful teacher and wrote a num- 
ber of text-books for schools, all of which met with high 
favor. For these and his historical productions, Princeton 
College conferred upon him the degree of Master of Arts. 

The high moral character, the clean, manly tendencies 
and the admirable literary style of Mr. Bllis’ stories have 
made him as popular on the other side of the Atlantic as in 
this country. A leading paper remarked some time since, 
that no mother need hesitate to place in the hands of her boy 
any book written by Mr. Bllis. They are found in the lead- 
ing Sunday-school libraries, where, as may well be believed, 
they are in wide demand and do much good by their sound, 
wholesome lessons which render them as acceptable to parents 
as to their children. All of his books published by Henry 
T. Coates & Co. are re-issued in London, and many have 
been translated into other languages. Mr. Bllis is a writer 
of varied accomplishments, and, in addition to his stories, is 
the author of historical works, of a number of pieces of pop- 


8 HENRY T. COATES & CO.’S POPULAR JUVENILES. 


ular music and has made several valuable inventions. Mr. 
Ellis is in the prime of his mental and physical powers, and 
great as have been the merits of his past achievements, there 
is reason to look for more brilliant productions from his pen 
in the near future. 


DEERFOOT SERIES. 

3 vols. By Edward S. Eeeis. $3.00 

Hunters of the Ozark. The Last War Trail. 

Camp in the Mountains. 

LOG CABIN SERIES. 

3 vols. By Edward S. Eeeis. $3.00 

Lost Trail. Footprints in the Forest. 


Camp-Fire and Wigwam. 

BOY PIONEER SERIES. 

3 vols. By Edward S. Eeeis. $3.00 

Ned in the Block-House. Ned on the River. 

Ned in the Woods. 

THE NORTHWEST SERIES. 

3 vols. By Edward S. Eeeis. $3. 00 

Two Boys in Wyoming. Cowmen and Rustlers. 

A Strange Craft and its Wonderful Voyage. 

BOONE AND KENTON SERIES. 

3 vols. By Edward S. Eeeis. $3.00 

Shod with Silence. In the Days of the Pioneers. 

Phantom of the River. 

IRON HEART, WAR CHIEF OF THE IROQUOIS. 

1 vol. By Edward S. Eeeis. $1.00 

THE SECRET OF COFFIN ISLAND. 

1 vol. By Edward S. Eeeis. $1.00 

THE BLAZING ARROW. 

1 vol. By Edward S. Eeeis. $1.00 


HENRY T. COATES & CO.’S POPUEAR JUVENIEES 9 


J. T. TROWBRIDGE. 

NEITHER as a writer does he stand apart from the great 
Currents of life and select some exceptional phase or odd 
combination of circumstances. He stands on the common 
level and appeals to the universal heart, and all that he sug- 
gests or achieves is on the plane and in the line of march of 
the great body of humanity. 

The Jack Hazard series of stories, published in the late 
Our Young Folks , and continued in the first volume of St. 
Nicholas , under the title of “Fast Friends,” is lio doubt 
destined to hold a high place in this class of literature. The 
delight of the boys in them (and of their seniors, too) is 
well founded. They go to the right spot every time. Trow’- 
bridge knows the heart of a boy like a book, and the heart 
of a man, too, and he has laid them both open in these books 
in a most successful manner. Apart from the qualities that 
render the series so attractive to all young readers, they 
have great value on account of their portraitures of American 
country life and character. The drawing is wonderfully 
accurate, and as spirited as it is true. The constable, Sel- 
lick, is an original character, and as minor figures where will 
we find anything better than Miss Wansey, and Mr. P. Pip- 
kin, Esq. The picture of Mr. Dink’s school, too, is capital, 
and where else in fiction is there a better nick-name than 
that the boys gave to poor little Stephen Treadwell, “Step 
Hen,” as he himself pronounced his name in an unfortunate 
moment when he saw it in print for the first time in his les- 
son in school. 

On the w T hole, these books are very satisfactory, and 
afford the critical reader the rare pleasure of the works that 
are just adequate, that easily fulfill themselves and accom- 
plish all they set out to do. — Scribner's Monthly. 


10 HENRY T. COATES & CO.’S POPULAR JUVENILES. 


JACK HAZARD SERIES. 

6 vols. By J. T. Trowbri ge. $7.25 

Jack Hazard and His Fortunes. Doing His Best. 

The Young Surveyor. A Chance for Himself. 

Fast Friends. Lawrence’s Adventures. 


ROUNDABOUT LIBRARY. 

For Boys and Girls. 

(97 Volumes.) 75c. per Volume. 


The attention of 
is called to Henrt. 
Library, by the popi 
EDWARD S. ELLIS 
HORATIO ALGER, . 
C. A. STEPHENS, 
LUC 

No authors of th< 
boys and girls. 

Every book is su; 
young readers. 

Librarians will fii 
books on their lists. 

Complete lists am 


HENRY ' 


1 COPY DEL. TO CAT. DiV. 
\PR. 25 1303 

APR 30 (903 


(222 C 


APR 25 1903 






























